The Stranger
by emospritelet
Summary: Ivelle fic: when Colonel Ives arrives in Storybrooke, the local librarian is intrigued. The feeling is mutual, and he asks her for dinner. Modern AU. Will contain violence, cannibalism and smut. Not necessarily in that order (but probably)
1. A Storm Approaches

**A/N: A very long time ago, I was going to write an Ivelle one-shot, but I only recently got some inspiration for one. I reckon this will be around six chapters, with some smut (of course). As it's Ives, there will also be violence and cannibalism. I ran a poll on tumblr asking people to vote for who gets eaten :)**

* * *

He came to the town with the first snows of winter, blown in by the biting winds, a dark figure striding along Main Street in the fading light of a late October day. The residents of the town, hurrying about their business, shot him curious looks, but none spoke. Strangers were rare, then. That made it harder to blend in, of course, but he wasn't planning on staying long. Just long enough.

He approached the centre of the town, the black leather bag he carried swinging from one gloved hand, snow pattering on the shoulders of his overcoat and the wide black brim of his hat. Ice crystals clung to the ends of his neatly-trimmed moustache and the triangular strip of beard on his chin. The snowfall would grow heavier as the night drew in; he could smell the chill in the air, the clouds leaden with the promise of coming snowdrifts. He had reached the town just in time.

Thumb rubbing over the rosary wrapped around his left hand, he paused momentarily outside a diner, its warm lights gleaming, the sound of laughter drifting out in the early evening. _Granny's_ , proclaimed the sign, suggesting below that there was bed and breakfast accommodation available. Allowing himself a faint smile, he walked around the side of the diner and made his way up between the dark, leafless branches of small trees to reach the steps of the inn.

The interior was dim, somewhat old-fashioned, the yellowish light from old, ornate lamps glowing warmly on dark wood, and he stood for a moment, looking around. A desk, devoid of any welcoming member of staff, stood to his right, a heavy book which he presumed to be the register set upon it. The clock on the wall ticked its low monotone, marking the seconds as he waited, and he was about to ring the brass bell that sat on the desk when there was a scuffling sound from behind the door and a dark-haired young woman burst in. She looked surprised to see him, brown eyes suddenly wide in her face, but quickly offered him a wide smile, scarlet lips drawing up over white teeth. Red streaks shone bright in her dark hair, her tight red shirt unbuttoned almost down to the middle of her chest, and it seemed to him that she was trying for an air of sensuality that she didn't really feel. An innocent child, dressed as a wanton.

"May I help you?" she asked then, and he shifted his position slightly, putting down his bag.

"I'd like a room, please." His voice was a little raspy, his accent thicker than usual. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone that he was almost as surprised at the sound of his voice as she.

"Oh! You're not from around here, huh?" she inquired, opening up the register. Specks of dust flashed in the light, brief and bright as shooting stars.

"No indeed, dear, hence my request."

She pretended to study the register for a moment, before giving him a wry glance.

"Look, you can basically have your pick of the rooms," she said. "Not much business in Storybrooke at the best of times. The square view is the best; I could give you it at the price of the forest view, if you like."

"Actually, I'd rather prefer the forest view," he said, with a slanting grin.

She shrugged as if to say that it made no difference to her, and picked up a pen, tapping it against red lips as she looked him over.

"Name?" she asked, and his smile widened.

"Ives." He watched her write it down, slender fingers tipped with red-lacquered nails gripping the shaft of the pen. Dark blue ink flowed out in a smooth line, the edges spreading slightly where it sank into the thick paper.

"Okay, Mr Ives, you're in room six." She reached behind her for a large silvery key, an ornate metal tag showing the number six within stainless steel filigree. He took it, his fingertips brushing hers momentarily.

"Actually it's Colonel Ives," he said, with a small smile. "But Mister is fine."

"Oh, a military man! Don't get many of those around here." She grinned at him, her teeth white and even, and he wondered how she'd taste. Sweet, he thought.

"Ruby, did you fall down a damn well or..?" The voice cut off as an old woman bustled in, greying hair wound up in a bun and gold-rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck. She looked him over, eyes narrowing slightly.

"We have a guest, Granny," chirped Ruby, gesturing towards him. "Colonel Ives is staying in room six." She turned back to him. "I didn't ask how long you'd be with us."

"Well, that really depends." He dug into the inside pocket of his coat for his wallet, eyeing the prices discreetly listed behind the desk. "On my way into town I passed a large salmon-pink house with a sign outside saying that it was for rent. Do you have any idea who owns it?"

"Oh, that would be Mr Gold's house," nodded Granny. "He's out of town. You'd need to speak to his caretaker."

He raised an eyebrow, and Ruby came to his rescue.

"That's Belle," she added.

"Belle." He held the name in his mouth, as though it were made of spun sugar, melting across his tongue.

"Belle French," explained Ruby. "She works over at the library."

He swallowed the name down, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain in his chest. Perhaps he was hungry. But then, he was always hungry. He smiled briefly, eyes crinkling as he showed his teeth.

"Thank you. Then shall we say one night for now, and I'll let you know my success with Miss French tomorrow?"

"Breakfast's in the diner from seven," Ruby said. "The diner's serving until ten. You can put an order in to go, if you want."

He smiled again. "Thank you, but I'll see to myself."

He counted out enough money for the room, and laid a ten-dollar bill on top.

"For the - ah - excellent customer service," he said, and Ruby grinned as Granny nodded to her to pocket it.

"Library closes soon," she informed him. "If you want to catch Belle, you should get over there before six."

He touched his hat to them, inclining his head, and made his way up the stairs, leather bag in hand, feeling their eyes on him. Room six was pleasant, light and spacious, if somewhat chintzy for his taste. A large bay window looked out on the evening sky and the dark, somehow threatening mass of the woods beyond the rear garden of the inn.

Placing his bag carefully beneath the dresser, he closed and locked the door behind him and made his way back downstairs. The library, was it? He saw it almost immediately upon leaving the inn, a clapboard building with a clock tower on top. The hands appeared to be stuck at 8:15, for he knew it wasn't that late. Straightening the sleeves of his overcoat, he walked towards the library, pushing open one of the double doors. It was quiet inside, the familiar musty, almost earthy smell of books lying heavy in the air, filled with the promise of knowledge, of other worlds, of excitement and escapism. Of fear.

A slight thump made his head turn quickly, and he rounded one of the stacks of bookshelves on silent feet, eyes and nose straining to catch the slightest hint of his quarry. There was another, louder thump, and a muffled curse, and he smirked to himself, moving on to the next stack. A young woman was standing rather precariously on a ladder, ridiculously high heels showing off shapely, dark-stockinged legs to their best advantage. She was wearing a short, flared black skirt and a tight white shirt that was almost see-through, her dark reddish-brown hair twisted up on her head, and for a moment he enjoyed looking her over. Reaching up, she tried to push a few books onto a high shelf, shoving with the heels of her hands. The reach was too much for her, he could tell, and before he knew it she was losing her balance, stumbling backwards and falling, and he had stepped forwards to catch her in his arms.

Breath whooshed out of her, along with a small scream that she swallowed upon impact, and she was a pleasant weight in his arms, wide blue eyes gazing up at him, her chest heaving. She was beautiful, all pale skin and plump, pink lips, her scent surrounding him, and he felt an unexpected, overwhelming urge to put his mouth to hers and taste the sweetness of her kiss. He quickly let her down to find her feet, taking a step back from her. She dusted herself off, blushing furiously.

"Th-thank you," she said a little breathlessly. "I was lucky I didn't break my neck."

"It was my pleasure." He inclined his head a little. "I was looking for Belle French."

"Well, you found her," she confirmed, still blushing a little. "Still in one piece, thanks to you. How can I help?"

The rush of blood had made her cheeks flush, and she was still breathing hard. Strands of her hair had worked themselves loose and curled around her slim neck. She was breathtaking. Delicious. He tried to keep his mind on what he was doing.

"I'm Colonel Ives," he said, extending a hand for her to shake. Her fingers were smooth and cool, and he wanted to lift her hand to his lips to kiss it. He resisted, dropping her hand and moving back a little further.

"I'm informed that you are - caretaker - for the salmon-pink house out of town," he said then. "I'm looking for a place to rent."

Her eyes brightened. "Really? No one's ever stayed there! I mean, Mr Gold has me keep it clean in case someone ever wants to, but…"

"I understand the owner is out of town," he said then, and she nodded.

"I've never even seen him, actually," she admitted. "Got the job by responding to a classified ad. The library doesn't pay me all that much." Her smile was rueful.

"Well, I'd be more than happy for you to carry on your role as caretaker, while I'm in residence," he offered, and she beamed.

"Great! How long were you wanting to stay?"

"Let's say three months, to start with," he suggested. It was likely he would be long gone by then, of course, but it never hurt to be certain. She smiled, dusting off her hands one more time and trotting over to the issue desk.

"If you wanted to look the place over, we could go there now," she said, rummaging beneath the desk for her bag. "I'll give you the tour."

He smiled at her, enjoying the way the light caught her eyes.

"I think I'd prefer to see the place in daylight," he said. "Would tomorrow be possible?"

"Of course!" Her smile was bright. "I open the library at ten, so if you met me here around eight-thirty, we should have plenty of time for you to look over the place and let me know if there's anything you need." She put her head to the side, the light catching her hair. "Do you have a place to stay tonight? Granny's is just across the street. The food's pretty good."

He showed his teeth. "I'm all checked in, thank you."

"Good!" She was still smiling at him, and he wondered if she was this cheerful with everyone. He imagined so; she seemed to have that sort of disposition. It would be a shame to eat her. In that way.

Lifting his hat, he gave her a slight bow.

"Until tomorrow, Miss French."

* * *

It was full dark when he returned to the inn, the diner filled with patrons talking and laughing, and the scent of frying steak drifting out into the night air. The smell made his nose twitch, but he didn't stop. He made his way up the stairs, letting himself into his room and lifting the leather bag up onto the dresser. Pushing a few items of clothing aside, he slipped his hands inside the bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped bundle and placing it on the dresser. He carefully teased apart the folds of blue flannel, his mouth watering as he did so, his heart thumping with anticipation. His fingers were trembling as he lifted the last fold of cloth, to reveal a few dozen thin strips of dried meat, hard and dark as leather. Pulling out the chair that was set in front of the dresser, he took off his overcoat and the jacket he wore beneath, and slid onto the chair, picking up one of the strips of dried meat and lifting it to his mouth. His lips closed around it, his tongue wrapping around the stiff meat and coating it with his saliva, the heady flavour of it filling his mouth, and he began chewing with a noise of contentment, his eyes closed, feeling the power flow into him as he consumed the flesh of the one that had tried to kill him.

* * *

By the next morning the snow had stopped, and the weak sun gleamed on the fresh snow. Ives rose early, making his way down to the diner and sitting at a table near the window. Ruby brought him a cup of coffee, and he even ordered eggs and bacon, although it tasted like ashes compared to the strips of meat that lay in his bag upstairs. He watched the townsfolk as he ate breakfast; they were pleasant, friendly types for the most part, although there were a couple of red-eyed, surly men who had clearly had a little too much to drink the night before. His eyes flicked from table to table, trying to assess each of them. He felt no particular desire to eat any of them, and he put that down to the good meal he had had the previous evening, and the fact that none of them were presently pissing him off.

"Did you get to see Belle?" asked Ruby, refilling his coffee, and he looked up at her. She was dressed in tiny red shorts, a white shirt knotted at her slim waist, and an apron that could only have been for show, as it certainly wouldn't have protected her from the smallest spillage.

"I did," he said, stirring his coffee. "She's very kindly agreed to show me over the place this morning."

"She cleans once a week," said Ruby helpfully. "The place should be ready to move into, if you're still interested." She put her head to the side. "What brings you to Storybrooke? Do you have family here?"

He smiled then. "Not that I know of. I was in the area, and I'm looking for a place to stay for a few months so that I can attend to some business. Your little town appealed to me."

Ruby pulled a face. "Really? _Nothing_ happens here, I'm warning you."

"Some people enjoy that," he pointed out, and she huffed.

"Not _me_. I want to get my ass to Boston as soon as I can."

"So why don't you?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"I dunno. Granny had a heart attack, so I had to take over some of the work here, and it got kind of busy… i don't know, it seems that every time I think of leaving, there's something to keep me here."

"Perhaps there's more to this place than you think," he suggested, and she snorted.

"Yeah? Like what? I spent Friday night cleaning vomit off the floor of the men's room. Not what I planned on doing with my life, Colonel, let me tell you."

He raised an eyebrow, spearing the last piece of bacon fat on his plate with a fork.

"Small towns have their own charm, I find," he said, and popped the fat into his mouth, chewing as he put down the fork and reached for his coffee.

"Well, if you need pointing at the nearest nightlife, look no further," said Ruby with a wry expression, picking up his empty plate. "We have steak nights on Thursday, no less. Happy hour's from five to seven weekdays, and Leroy and his buddies can get a little rowdy sometimes. The Rabbit Hole's the only bar in town and it's a dump, but they keep the pool tables clean." She winked at him. "Try not to die of boredom while you're here, okay?"

She set off towards the kitchen, swerving to avoid one of the other waitresses, and he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, keeping an eye on the time. It was almost eight thirty, and he suspected that Miss French was the punctual type, so he drained the coffee and got to his feet, picking up his overcoat. He tucked a few bills under the coffee cup to pay for his breakfast, and opened the door of the diner to a cold blast of air, shrugging on his overcoat. A dark-haired woman hurried up, dressed in a black suit beneath a fitted grey coat, her lips perfectly painted in the colour of fresh blood. She had her hand outstretched, already reaching for the handle, and he stepped to the side, holding open the door for her. She stepped through instinctively without looking at him, nodding impatiently, and he smirked in amusement. Clearly she had more important business to attend to than thanking strangers. He stepped out of the door, buttoning his coat and slipping his hat onto his head, and made his way to the library.

Belle was arriving just as he got there, bundled up in a blue wool coat and hat that brought out the colour of her eyes. Her cheeks were a little pink, and she smiled at him as she hurried up.

"Well, good morning!" she said brightly. "Ready to go?"

He spread his arms a little, returning her smile.

"I am in your hands, Miss French."

They ended up walking there, Belle chattering away to him about the town and its inhabitants, the various shops and amenities and a few of the local characters. He smoked a thin cigar as they walked, enjoying the flavour in his mouth and the burn in his lungs, plumes of fragrant smoke drifting out behind him. The snow was soft beneath his boots, kicked up to powder as they made their way along the streets, the biting air trying to get through the thick wool of his coat. Cars were few, he noticed, and the majority of people that passed had their chins pushed down into woollen scarves. They attracted little attention as they made their way out of town and into one of the wider, tree-lined streets on the outskirts. The pink house stood out amongst its neighbours, snow blanketing the garden, the dark twigs of hardy plants showing through along the edges. He looked the place over for a moment as Belle made her way up the path. It was a pleasant looking house. An ideal place to call his own for a while.

"Aren't you coming?" Belle had mounted the steps and was looking over her shoulder at him, and for a moment something tickled the back of his mind. It was gone as soon as he tried to grasp at it.

"Of course." He made his way up the path and the steps of the house, getting to the door just as she opened it. She stepped back, not realising he was behind her, and he felt the press of her body against his before she excused herself with a giggle, stepping through the door. Her perfume filled his nose, roses and spice, and for a moment his senses almost rendered him blind, his desire to touch her, to taste her, almost too much to bear.

"So, here we are." She had wandered into the hallway and turned to face him, blushing a little. She gestured to the side, an open doorway revealing an intriguing rectangle of the room behind it.

"The lounge is nice; there's a big window in there, and it catches the sun. All the rooms have fireplaces, and there's plenty of cut wood in the crawl-space, but there's central heating as well, of course."

She walked on, and he shut the door behind himself, closing off the world and following her. She had sauntered into a modern, well-appointed kitchen, spreading her arms as he entered.

"All mod cons, Colonel, as you can see," she added. "The kitchen comes fully equipped, but you'll have to get your own food, I'm afraid."

"That won't be an issue." He opened up the freezer, checking the drawer sizes.

"All I keep here is some milk, so I can make myself some tea when I come over to clean," she said. "I could - make us a cup, if you like."

He closed the freezer door, straightening up, and smiled at her briefly.

"I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble," he said, and she beamed.

"Oh, it's no trouble! I could do with getting something warm inside me. Why don't you look over the rest of the place while I boil the kettle?"

He left her clattering around in the kitchen while he made his way slowly from room to room. The owner had taste; the house was furnished in elegant period pieces, the floors all hardwood, the rugs thick and well-made. Mounting the stairs, he looked over the rooms above. The bedrooms were spacious, the bathroom sleek and modern. Yes, he could certainly be comfortable here. Making his way back downstairs, he could hear Belle singing softly to herself in the kitchen, and allowed himself a brief smile.

To the rear of the lounge was a dining room, the mahogany table long and shining, the backs of the chairs ornately carved. Crystal decanters stood on a silver tray on the sideboard, but he noticed that they were empty. That would certainly have to change. He ran his hand along the flat plane of the tabletop, looking up as Belle entered the room with a tray of tea things. She had taken off her coat, and was wearing a short grey dress with a cap-sleeved shirt beneath, her pale arms bare. A thought entered his mind, unbidden, of what she would look like spread out on top of the table, her dark winter clothes in a pile on the floor, her milky skin bared to his sight, and his touch, and his tongue.

"I hope you like Earl Grey." She set the tray down carefully, and he watched her pour, slender fingers pressing the lid of the teapot down as she did so.

"What do you think of the house?" She handed him his tea, deep amber liquid in a blue and white china cup, and he took it from her, rattling it against the saucer a little.

"I think it's perfect." He reached across for the milk jug, his fingers brushing against hers, and she sucked in a breath, a pink flush blooming on her cheeks as she stepped back. He poured a little milk into the tea. She was out of his reach, but he could still feel her, a warm, fragrant presence to his right, a hum of electricity in the air around him and between them. He wanted to cross the space she had made and touch her, and he inwardly shook his head at his own foolishness. There was silence for a while as they sipped their tea. She kept shooting him glances over the edge of her cup, fleeting, curious looks from beneath thick black lashes, that seemed to weigh and measure him. He wondered what conclusions she was coming to.

"How soon could you make the arrangements?" he asked then, and she pulled a face, pouting a little.

"Well, I don't know. I guess - I guess as long as you have the money, you could move in straight away." She looked a little self-conscious. "To be honest, I've never even spoken to Mr Gold. When I took the job, all I had was a pile of papers waiting for me in his shop. I have details of the bank account to pay rent into. Most of the people in Storybrooke are his tenants, you see. I keep the accounts. The business kind of runs itself."

"Ah." He lifted the teacup to his lips, watching her over the rim of it. "You're not his enforcer, then?"

He smiled as he said it, and she giggled.

"I don't think anyone in this town would be afraid of me," she said ruefully. "Most of them pay on time, though. Maybe they just don't want me to get into trouble. He has kind of a bad reputation, although I haven't seen him come here in as long as I can remember."

He took a swallow of tea, tasting a few tannin-rich leaves on the tip of his tongue, and put his cup and saucer down on the table.

"I can pay the three months in advance," he offered, reaching into his inside pocket. "Perhaps Mr Gold will get in touch, perhaps not. At least this way you and I can come to an arrangement, would you agree?"

"I would." She grinned at him, drinking her tea, and he counted out fifty dollar bills as she watched.

"I take it Storybrooke has a bank," he said quietly, and she nodded.

"Yeah. I'll need to pay it into my account and then transfer it over." She watched him counting. "That's a lot of money."

He hesitated, one crisp fifty-dollar bill held between finger and thumb.

"Perhaps I ought to walk to the bank with you," he suggested. "I'd hate it if you were to be accosted and lose my rent."

Belle giggled. "Highly unlikely in this town," she said. "But, I guess, if you have to go back to town anyway…"

He counted out the last of the money, and she shuffled the bills into a neat pile, putting it inside the small bag she carried.

"Just give me a moment to wash these things, and we'll go," she said. "If you're ready, of course."

He drained his cup, the tip of his tongue flicking out to catch a drop of tea on his lip. She was watching him, her pupils widening, and he felt a stirring below the waist as he watched her small white teeth dig into her lower lip. He imagined how it would feel to take that lip between his own teeth, to bite into her, to peel the clothes from her and bear her down on his bed, to feel her flesh close around him as he entered her. He put the cup back in its saucer, the clink of china making her start, and met her eyes, noticing that her breath had quickened a little.

"Miss French, would you have dinner with me?" he asked quietly, and she blushed.

"I - um - yes, okay," she said a little breathlessly, a smile brightening her face. "When?"

"Tonight, if you're free," he said. "I could meet you at seven."

"I'd - I'd like that very much." She was still blushing. Truly delicious.

He waited as she carried the tea things through to the kitchen, and listened to the running water as she washed them. Tonight. Drumming his fingers on his hip, he considered his options. He would need to eat soon, and breaking into his stash of dried meat was a last resort. It had certainly kept him going these past few weeks, but he yearned for something fresh, for the scent of warm, freshly spilled blood and the unmistakable taste of human flesh. The storm that had followed him to the town had blown out, and the ground was covered with thick snow. Still, the weather had cleared, and although it was cold, he suspected that this wouldn't prevent the inhabitants from venturing out in the evening. There was ample time to see what Storybrooke had to offer him before he met up with the delectable Miss French.

* * *

 **A/N: The votes have been counted, and it was very close between the winners. So several people have the dubious honour of being Ives's dinner.**

 **Belle will only get eaten in a good way :)**


	2. Cold Enough To Snow

**A/N: I'm having fun with this :) Okay, so Belle has agreed to go on a date, and Ives is hungry. Here's what happened next.**

* * *

Once Ives had walked Belle to the bank and seen her safely inside, he bid her goodbye until that evening, taking the keys to his new place from her. He then returned to Granny's and paid for a second night. He had little in the way of luggage, and he was going to need some more clothes if he was to stay any length of time, but he decided to wait a day or two before looking into that. Once he had confirmed his sleeping arrangements for the evening, he carried his leather bag over to the house, placing it in the dark and roomy basement, and then decided to explore the town. It was bigger than it appeared at first glance, and he spent several hours walking the streets, memorising which shops were where, and the point at which businesses gave way to residential properties. He drew some curious looks from the inhabitants, and he smiled and touched his hat to them, causing surprised but friendly nods in return.

The day was cold yet sunny and pleasant, despite the freezing temperatures, but there was a dark, angry bank of clouds building near the horizon. He suspected that another storm was blowing in, and that it would be upon them within a day or so. It would mean more snow on top of what was already on the ground, and made it far less likely that the townsfolk would venture out of doors. He would need to make his move that evening, then, if he were not to miss his chance. For now, however, the weather was calm, if bitterly cold, and the sun's glare off the thick snow was harsh on his eyes. It was with some relief that he entered the cool darkness of the Rabbit Hole, the only bar in the whole of Storybrooke.

Ruby had told him it was a dump, and it certainly smelt stale, of spilt beer and cigarettes. He saw a couple of the patrons smoking, and as no one seemed to mind, he drew out one of his thin cigars, sitting down at the bar. A quick word to the bartender was enough to get him a glass of beer, frothy and refreshing, and he nodded his thanks as he surveyed the occupants.

"New in town, huh?" The bartender was unremarkable, a somewhat heavy man with dark hair and a forgettable face. He failed to hold Ives's interest.

"We don't get many visitors here," the man added, and Ives nodded.

"So I hear. The town isn't that isolated, surely?"

"There are bigger and prettier towns further down the coast," said the bartender, placing an ashtray in front of him with a shrug. "Not much to attract people to Storybrooke, I guess; we're kind of off the tourist route. What brings you here, Mr…?"

"A little rest and relaxation, that's all." Ives drank some of his beer, pleasantly surprised at the flavour. Condensation ran down the side of the glass, pooling at the bottom as he set it down on the bar, and he put the cigar between his lips and scratched a match, the brief scent of sulphur stinging his nostrils as flame burst upwards. He pulled in smoke and the flavour of tobacco, the end of the cigar glowing deep orange. The action was soothing, and he let looping whorls of smoke stream from his mouth as he looked around, casting his eye over the patrons. Two men were playing pool, dressed in jeans and leather jackets, one complaining about the shot the other had just taken. There were a few others, all with the slightly glazed look of men who'd been there since opening time and would likely be there until the place closed. Ives tried to refrain from curling his lip at the scent of beer and stale sweat coming off them.

"I'm told this is the only bar in town," he mused, tapping ash from the end of his cigar with the flick of his thumb.

"Well, you can get a drink at Granny's," acknowledged the bartender, wiping a glass with a cloth and leaving thick streaks on it. "This is the only place to have a good time, though. You should come along in the evenings; we have pool contests, music… plus there are quite a lot of cute girls in this town, if you know what I'm saying."

Ives gave a non-committed shrug, taking another pull on his cigar, and the bartender took the hint and left him alone, going to serve a group of men at the other end of the bar. Ives sat quietly, fingers tapping on the edge of his beer glass, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils and curl around the side of his face in the slight draught. His body was tense, his instincts readying him for the hunt, for the kill. But he had to be careful. No reckless moves. A stranger would be the first to be suspected. He watched the others in the bar, listened to their conversations, and assessed their weaknesses as he blew out smoke in a thin, bluish stream.

* * *

It was just after one when Belle shoved open the door to the diner, huffing a little from the cold air that scorched her lungs. The weather was freezing, but the inside of the diner was warm, and she hurriedly pulled off her hat and unwound the scarf from around her throat. The diner was busy; it seemed that many of the residents of Storybrooke had decided on a hot lunch rather than sandwiches, and she couldn't blame them.

"Hey, Belle." Ruby looked over from where she was delivering burgers to two hungry diners, dark hair swinging. "I'll be right with you, okay?"

"I just need a grilled cheese and an iced tea," said Belle, and Ruby set two cups of coffee down and spun away from the table.

"Coming right up," she said, winking at Belle, and jotted the order on a pad, tearing it off and giving it to one of the other waitresses as she bustled through to the kitchens. Belle pushed herself up onto one of the bar stools, one foot tucked behind the other, and Ruby leant on the bar, a grin on her face.

"Book club tomorrow night?" she asked, and Belle returned the grin.

"Wine and snacks already bought," she confirmed. "How did you like the book?"

"I loved it!" said Ruby enthusiastically. "Captain Wentworth is my new fictional crush, by the way, so hands off, missy!"

Belle giggled. "Mary Margaret will be pleased he was such a hit," she remarked. "Remember it's your choice for next time."

Ruby pouted. "Fine. I'll try to pick something that doesn't make us all cry. Unlike _you_."

"Hey, you said you liked that book!" protested Belle, and Ruby shrugged.

"I did. Mascara down my face is _so_ not a good look, though. Maybe I'll suggest Terry Pratchett, or something. Magic, fun - something to make us laugh."

"Fine with me." Belle shrugged off her coat, and Ruby waited patiently until she had draped it over the stool and sat back down.

"So?" she said, and Belle raised an eyebrow.

"So - what?"

Ruby looked put-upon, straightening up and slapping the bar with the flat of her hands.

" _So_ \- have you seen our mysterious stranger?" she demanded, and Belle blushed.

"Yes," she admitted.

"And?" persisted Ruby. "What do you think? He's pretty charming, right? Good tipper, too. A little short for my tastes and probably way too old, but beggars can't be choosers in this dump." She winked at Belle. "Probably the perfect height for _you_ to smooch, though, Belle."

Belle shot her a wry look, but inclined her head.

"I - um - have a date with him, actually," she admitted, and Ruby squeaked in excitement, eyes widening.

"Awesome! It's about time you got back on the scene after that asshole left."

Belle shot her a look.

"I'm not getting back on any scene," she said. "It's dinner, that's all."

"Dinner, a little kissing, maybe some groping…" Ruby squawked as Belle shoved her. "What? I'm thinking of your welfare. Maybe he'll keep Creepy Keith off your ass!"

"The thought of Keith anywhere near my ass is repulsive," said Belle, sticking out her tongue. "But I don't need anyone to keep him away from me, thank you, I can take care of myself."

"Hmm." Ruby poured her iced tea, dropping a lemon slice in the top of the glass. "So where's the mysterious Colonel Ives taking you?"

"I've no idea," said Belle, honestly. "I guess there aren't many alternatives, are there? We're meeting at seven."

Ruby slid the glass across the bar to her, a little tea spilling over the top and running down the sides as she did so.

"What's your first impression?" she asked, and Belle frowned slightly.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "It's weird, it's like - it's kind of like I _trust_ him."

"You trust everyone," said Ruby dismissively, wiping the bar with a cloth, and Belle stuck out her tongue again.

"I do _not_. I mean it, though. I feel safe with him."

"Good." Ruby tucked the cloth into the back pocket of her shorts. "If he tries anything that changes that, I'll kick his ass, okay?"

"Understood." Belle rolled her eyes a little, and Ruby winked at her.

"Tomorrow, I want _all_ the details," she said with relish, and Belle grinned, stirring her drink with a straw before putting her lips to it.

* * *

Ives made his way back to Granny's at six, having spent a few hours in the Rabbit Hole, then tracing and memorising a path along the back streets between there and his new home. He saw no one, which pleased him. It was unlikely that there would be any witnesses to what he planned. The only thing that remained was to select his target.

Upon returning to the inn, he showered and shaved, trimming his beard and moustache, and changed into narrow black pants and a white shirt beneath a black waistcoat. Ives preferred a cravat over a regular tie, and he looped a length of black silk around his neck, wrapping it around the winged collar of the shirt and knotting it. The overall effect was old-fashioned, he knew, but he felt that there was a certain charm to it. He had certainly never enjoyed feeling ordinary. Not that that would ever be an issue, of course. Drawing on a black jacket, he straightened the sleeves and brushed his hair back, brown strands shining in the lamplight and falling almost to his shoulders. He leant on the dresser, surveying himself in the mirror. Dark eyes looked back out of a slightly tanned face, the light reflecting off high cheekbones. He nodded curtly, and drew on his overcoat, tucking a couple of cigars and his wallet into the inside pocket.

There was a hum of conversation coming from the diner when he entered, and as he had thirty minutes or so before he had to meet Belle, he walked up to the bar and ordered a whisky. Ruby poured him a large one, winking at him before going back to her waitressing, and he told himself to give her a generous tip. Sipping the whisky, he let the atmosphere surround him, listening with half an ear to the conversation between the diners. It reminded him how hungry he was.

"Who are _you_?" A piping voice made him turn slowly, and he saw that a young boy, bundled up in a duffle-coat and grey and red scarf, was staring at him suspiciously. Gloves hung on strings out of the sleeves of his jacket, and Ives smiled at him.

"I'm Colonel Ives, young man," he said kindly. "And you are?"

"How did you get into Storybrooke?" asked the boy, without answering, and Ives felt his brow crinkle.

"I walked," he said simply, and the boy shook his head.

"No one _ever_ comes here," he said urgently. "How did you do it? You shouldn't stay here, you might not be able to leave again if you do."

"Henry!" A woman's sharp voice made both of them look to the door, and the same dark haired woman that Ives remembered holding the door open for that morning hurried up.

"What did I tell you about punctuality?" she demanded, and the boy shrugged. The woman - his mother, Ives presumed - rolled her eyes.

"You'll be late for your session with Archie," she said firmly.

"I was just talking to Colonel Ives," said Henry brightly, gesturing to him. "He's new in town, Mom. Isn't that neat?"

The woman straightened up slowly, appearing to notice Ives for the first time. She was a beautiful creature, he thought. Eyes as dark as his, with flawless skin and full red lips. There was a hardness to her, though, which he admired, but which he had no desire to try to get past. She looked him over, frowning slightly.

"What are you doing in Storybrooke?" she demanded, with more hostility than he thought warranted.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet," he said, the left side of his mouth curving upwards slightly in amusement. An odd hush had fallen over the diner, the customers eyeing them as they pushed food around their plates without eating.

"How did you get here?" she demanded frostily, and Ives made an ostentatious show of looking behind himself, as though she couldn't possibly be addressing him in that manner. He turned back to her with a small grin.

"I walked in," he said abruptly. "Which from the reactions I've had, appears to be highly unusual, although I can't imagine why."

"No strangers ever come to this town," she said coldly.

"Well, perhaps that will change," he said easily, his hand flicking towards her, fingers curling inward as he pointed. "Assuming you permit them entry, of course. I noticed a distinct lack of watchtowers and armed sentries on my approach, though it's possible I missed your heavily-defended border. The storm, you know." He showed his teeth.

Her eyes narrowed, and he decided to show that he had better manners than she.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said smoothly, extending a hand. "My name is Colonel Ives."

The woman studied him intently, frowning, as though she were looking for something and not finding it. All at once she broke into a sweet, insincere smile, her lips curving upwards.

"Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke," she said, in honeyed tones, and shook his hand briefly. "Are you staying at the inn?"

"Just one more night," he said, still smiling. "I managed to find a place to rent for a few months."

"So you're staying for some time?" Her voice had an edge to it, before she seemed to recollect herself, the smile returning. He shrugged, looking around.

"It seems a quaint little place," he said, gesturing to the room. "Quiet little town, sea air, friendly locals." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Perfect for a little - recuperation, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course." She was still studying him, still smiling, but there was a slight, puzzled crinkle in her brow. He wondered what on earth was bothering her.

"Well, I certainly hope the townsfolk make you welcome," she said pleasantly, and put her hands on her son's shoulders, steering him towards the door. "Come, Henry. Do enjoy your stay, Colonel Ives."

That last was said over her shoulder, with a final, brief look, and he watched as she led Henry out of the diner and off down the street.

"So, you met the lovely Mayor." Ruby's voice made him turn, and he shrugged.

"She seemed not to like me all that much," he observed, and Ruby sniffed, collecting glasses and stacking them on the tray she was carrying.

"Yeah, don't take it personally, she doesn't like anyone all that much, except maybe Sheriff Graham. And Henry, of course."

She straightened up, resting the tray on her hip and fixing him with a beady eye.

"So, where are you taking my best girl tonight?" she demanded, and he blinked.

"Ah," he said. "You're friends with Miss French?"

" _Best_ friends," corrected Ruby. "And despite the fact that you're a guest, I'm here to tell you that if you try anything funny I will beat you to death with ten pounds of frozen sausage meat, okay?" She smiled sweetly, and he couldn't help grinning.

"Then perhaps you can assist me in choosing a venue," he said, and Ruby shifted the tray of glasses to her other arm.

"Not much choice," she admitted. "Marco's is your best bet. The food's great, the service is good, and it's small enough to feel - intimate." She waggled her eyebrows at him. "I could book you a table, if you like."

"Is there a reason you're being so helpful?" he asked dryly, and her grin widened.

"I want her to have a good time, that's all," she said. "Make sure you're interesting and attentive."

She spun on the balls of her feet, flouncing off to the kitchen, and he watched her go, amused. She came running back shortly afterwards to tell him they were booked in for seven-thirty, and he nodded his thanks and drank the rest of his whisky. He had five minutes to get over to the library, and he always liked to be punctual, so he set down his glass, slipped some money underneath it, and made his way out into the cold night air.

The street outside was eerily quiet, the sound of the diner cutting off as the door closed, and he pulled out a cigar and lit it, watching the empty street. The cold was trying to get through his clothes, its thin claws probing and rummaging, but he tried his best to ignore it as he waited for some sign of movement near the library. He was looking forward to the evening; a meal with a beautiful woman was something he hadn't experienced in some time, and he intended to enjoy it. Quite how the evening would end was something he hadn't settled on. He didn't want to kill her, though. He had already decided that.

He took another draw on the cigar as he waited, and a man shuffled up the street across from him, the leather jacket he was wearing poor protection against the weather. Ives recognised him as one of the patrons of the Rabbit Hole, a whiny, aggressive bully who tried to start fights when he lost at pool. He dropped his eyes, focusing on the thin, trampled crust of snow on the top step, where the hot ash of his cigar fell and briefly melted the ice. The sound of the library door opening made him look up, and he watched with a growing smile as Belle stepped out, locking the door behind her, a hat pulled down on her head.

"Well, hey there!"

Ives frowned as the man across the street from him straightened up and stepped near Belle. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Library's closed," she said, in quelling tones, and he grinned.

"Good. Then you're free, right?"

"Actually no, I'm busy." She was putting her keys back in her bag, and Ives started to make his way down the steps, carefully watching the man across the street.

"I was just heading to the Rabbit Hole," the man went on.

"Really? Good for you." Belle looked up and down the street a little anxiously, and Ives wondered if he should make his presence known.

"Come on, Belle, come for a drink." The man was standing too close to her, and he watched her shrink back a little, clearly intimidated.

"I already told you no a dozen times," she said firmly, her shoulders a little hunched.

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me why," the man persisted.

"Because I'm not interested, Keith, that's why."

"Why the hell not? Think you're too good for me?"

Belle was silent, and Ives could tell that her desire not to lie was warring with her sense of self-preservation. He stepped onto the road on silent feet.

"Miss French?" he said, and two heads whipped around to stare at him, a growing sense of relief in Belle's expression. The man scowled.

"Take yourself elsewhere, we're talking," he growled, and Ives looked at him steadily.

"He's my _date_ ," said Belle tartly. "Good evening, Colonel, I was just locking up."

Ives continued to lock eyes with the other man as he drew on his cigar, his gaze unblinking, and his adversary eventually dropped his eyes.

"I'd have to be desperate, anyway," he muttered. "Hope you like 'em frigid, man."

Ives felt rage flare in him, an unusual and somewhat exhilarating feeling, and his fists clenched as the man turned his back and carried on down the street. It would be the work of an instant to step up behind him and break his neck…

"Sorry about that." Belle's voice cut through his murderous thoughts. "He's been pestering me for months, I'd hoped he would have moved on to someone else."

"The man clearly has neither subtlety nor manners," was all he said, feeling his fists unclench, a slight pain where his nails had dug into the palms of his hands.

"Yeah, well, that's Storybrooke for you." Belle's voice was dry. "Forget about the leering vileness that is Keith Nott. Shall we go?"

"Of course." He turned from where he had been watching the hulking idiot make his retreat, and offered her his arm.

"I - had your friend book us a table for the evening," he added. "Marco's. She said that would be best."

Belle gave him a sidelong look.

"You spoke to Ruby?" she asked suspiciously. "And she booked us a table? What the hell is she up to?"

He grinned. "I did ask that. Apparently I am to be - ah - _interesting and attentive_." His fingers danced in the air, smoke spiralling up from the cigar. "I can promise at least one of those."

Belle chuckled, squeezing his arm. "Well, okay then. I'll kill her later."

"I think she cares about you a lot," he said thoughtfully. "There are certainly worse traits in a friend."

They walked along the street. Her arm was snug in his, her scent drifting out in the air and working its way into his mind. The swell of her breast was pressing against his arm, even through her coat, and he was enjoying her closeness, the feel of her hip brushing his as they walked. He finished the cigar, grinding the butt on the snow-covered rim of a trashcan before dropping it in.

"Are you alone, in the library?" he asked, and she sighed.

"Yeah. The Mayor isn't all that generous with funding, so if I'm sick, there's no one to cover." she explained. "I love it, though. I hold a lot of sessions with the kids. They _love_ books! It's so rewarding to see them getting engaged with a story."

Her eyes glinted with excitement, and he couldn't help smiling.

"I met the Mayor's son today," he said, and Belle's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh! You met Henry!" She looked delighted. "Oh, he's such a bright boy! I know I'm not supposed to have favourites, but…" She shrugged, looking a little self-conscious.

"He seems very - inventive," he remarked. "An interesting child."

"He was given a book by his school teacher," said Belle. "I expect you'll meet her soon - Mary Margaret Blanchard. It seems to have kick-started his imagination."

"Hmm."

He was silent for a moment as they walked along, and paused as Belle squeezed his arm, and they stopped outside a restaurant with dark red awnings and a heady scent of garlic and herbs drifting out in the winter air.

"Here we are," she said.

The restaurant was warm and snug, Marco's staff running around with bright smiles and trays of fragrant dishes. Marco himself showed them to a table by the window, and Belle beamed as she sat across from him, spreading out the skirt of her dark blue dress with her hands. She had taken off her hat and the wool coat she had been wearing, revealing a modest amount of pale skin above the neckline of the dress. Her hair was twisted up on her head, coppery strands shining in the light, and for a moment he wondered what it would look like unbound, falling around her naked shoulders. He ran his forefinger over his upper lip, feeling the thick, slightly coarse hair there, wanting to touch her.

"Do you drink, Miss French?" he asked, and she nodded, waving a hand.

"Please, call me Belle," she insisted. "Miss French is so formal - now we're having dinner I think we should be on first name terms, don't you?"

He smiled. "Very well, if you insist. I'm afraid that I'm somewhat old-fashioned."

"Never apologise for good manners," she said, and raised an eyebrow. "So - what do I call you?"

"Ah." Ives sat back a little and tugged at his waistcoat, smoothing the front. "Francis."

Belle smiled. "That's a nice name. It suits you."

"Fortunate." He grinned at her, and motioned to one of the waiters, who hurried over with dishes of bread and olives.

"Why don't I get us a bottle of something?" he suggested, and Belle looked up, her eyes a deep blue in the candlelight.

"I'd prefer red wine, if that's okay," she said, and he nodded. Once they had ordered, and the wine had been poured, Belle shifted a little in her seat, looking over the menu. She was chewing her lower lip as she concentrated, and he watched her with an intensity that surprised him. There was something about her, something beyond her pure beauty and her good nature. Something _calling_ to him. He pulled his eyes from her, looking at the menu to distract himself.

"I'll have the sausage rigatoni," Belle said decidedly. "I can recommend it, by the way, it's really good."

"Actually, I was thinking of the _orecchiette_ with broccoli," he said, and she looked surprised.

"Oh, are you vegetarian? I didn't know."

"I'm not," he admitted, putting the menu down. "I just don't eat meat all that often. I - I like to cook it myself, to know where it came from, do you understand?"

"I think so," she nodded. "My dad likes to catch fish, so we eat that quite a bit. I guess you want to know that what you're eating has had a good life, right?"

Ives smiled. "Something like that."

They ordered the meals, handing back the menus and sitting back in their chairs, and Belle sipped at her wine, watching him.

"What part of Scotland are you from?" she asked, and he smiled briefly.

"The wilds," he said, and she giggled.

"Well, for a guy that's been living in the wilds, you dress remarkably well," she noted, and he shrugged.

"There is never an excuse for a man being badly turned out," he said.

"What brought you over here?" she asked, and he sighed.

"It's a long story," he said, scratching his left sideburn. "Perhaps not one for a first date. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." She took another drink of her wine. "I just - it was obvious you weren't from around here, and then I heard the accent…" She waved a hand. "I admit, I was intrigued, but if I'm prying, just tell me to keep my nose out."

She grinned at him, to let him know that she was sincere, but he still felt a little bad for keeping the story from her.

"What about you?" he asked, taking a sip of the wine. It was as dark and rich as blood, but without the power, the fire. It would do. For now.

"Not much to tell," admitted Belle, pushing a crumb of bread around on the plate with her forefinger. "We moved here from Melbourne when I was around ten, I think. Mum had died about six months earlier, and I think Dad just wanted to get away from anything that reminded him of her."

"I'm sorry," he said, and she nodded.

"It's okay, I was very young. I can still remember her, of course, but the pain faded a long time ago. I think it's worse for Dad. I wish he'd date. Since he opened the flower shop he's been on his own, except for me."

Ives popped an olive into his mouth and chewed, the taste salty and rich, heady with garlic and the slightly astringent flavour of dried thyme. He swallowed it down, the tip of his tongue licking the slick sheen of golden oil from his fingertips, and Belle watched him with widening eyes.

"No matchmaking on your part?" he remarked, and she started a little before rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, my history of relationships isn't exactly stellar, so there's no way I'm interfering with his," she remarked dryly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Sounds intriguing."

Belle pulled a face. "Trust me, it _really_ isn't. I've had a few relationships. Nothing that really meant anything. My last boyfriend left town a year or so ago, so maybe that gives you an indication of my success." She looked wry.

"What happened?" he asked, and she sighed.

"The usual. We started dating in school, and we grew apart. We were looking for different things. I wanted to study and travel, and he wanted to settle down."

She turned her wineglass around on the tablecloth, the ruby-red liquid catching the light from the candles, slender fingers stroking rhythmically against the thin stem.

"In the end he said I was spending too much time shut away in the library, and not enough with him," she added. "He told me I had to choose. So - that was that."

"Ultimatums rarely turn out how one would want," he observed, and she shrugged, taking a drink.

"He wasn't a bad person."

"He was a fool," said Ives softly, and she blushed a little, ducking her head self-consciously. He picked up the bottle, pouring more wine for the both of them, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. He could tell the exact moment when her breath caught in her chest and her heart rate increased. That blush was still in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling, and he felt his own heart quicken in response to the sight of her, something that hadn't happened in… He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. He sat back slowly, trying to process what he was feeling. Belle dropped her eyes, concentrating on the red-checked tablecloth, on a few crumbs that she was pushing around with a fingertip, trying to fit them inside one of the tiny white squares.

"What - um - about you?" she asked, and glanced up at him. "Any tragic tales of relationships gone bad?"

He shrugged, trying to think clearly. "Not much to tell, I'm afraid. All I can say is, it's been a very long time since I went to dinner with anyone."

"Oh." Belle smiled again. "Well, I hope I don't disappoint."

"Impossible." He returned the smile, and raised his glass.

* * *

The food was excellent, despite its obvious shortcomings from his perspective, and he was surprised at how easy it was to talk to her. Belle French was a good, pure soul with a dry sense of humour and an obsessive love of books, and she was extremely good company. He found himself looking forward to seeing her again, if she would allow it. He tried not to think about the reactions he was having around her, of how much he wanted to touch her, to kiss her. Of how badly he _wanted_ her. Need - _that_ sort of need - was something he couldn't remember experiencing in - well, he couldn't recall how long. Perhaps that was the problem. Too long on his own. Yes.

Having paid, and waved away her offer of splitting the cost, he walked her home, the night air clinging to them and making Belle shiver. He wanted to smoke, but had decided to wait until he was on his way home, until he left her at the door of her apartment. Until he was alone once more. Belle glanced up at him, eyes shining from beneath her lashes, and his urge to kiss her, to taste her, was growing. He thought she would allow it. As they reached the door of the stairwell that led up to her apartment, Belle pulled her arm gently from his and turned on the balls of her feet.

"Well," she said decidedly. "Are you going to kiss me?"

He blinked. "Yes."

She smiled at him encouragingly, and so he stepped forward a little, wishing his hands were not so cold. His fingers cupped her cheeks, his hair falling forward a little as he bent his head, his mouth finding hers. She was softness and warmth and life, her lips yielding to him, parting at the first touch of his tongue, and Belle moaned a little as his hands moved down her shoulders, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. She was sweet, a hint of the rich wine still on her tongue, and he deepened the kiss, aroused by the sound she made and the feel of her body against his. Eventually he pulled back, his lips tugging at hers a little as he withdrew, and Belle let her hands slip from his shoulders, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

"Whoa," she whispered, and he grinned widely.

"I second that reaction," he breathed and she giggled a little, her hands slipping to his waist and curling over his hips. It was a pleasant feeling, and he let his forehead rest against hers for a moment, inhaling her scent.

"Do you - want to come up?" she asked a little breathlessly. She was looking up at him from beneath her lashes, and he wanted her desperately, a dark and pulsing desire that was almost frightening in its intensity.

"Yes!" he rasped, and kissed her again. She clung to him a moment, the kiss deepening, and she was panting as he pulled back.

"But I won't," he added softly, his lips brushing lightly over hers, and was gratified by her disappointed expression.

"Oh." She slipped out of his arms, taking a step back. "Oh. Okay."

"It's not that I don't want to," he assured her. "It's just. Well, it's our first date. It would be inappropriate of me to take advantage in that way."

He smiled a little awkwardly, and she sighed, amused and somewhat exasperated.

"And the second date, Colonel Ives?" she asked innocently, and he grinned.

"Ah. Then I'm ashamed to say that all bets are off."

Belle giggled, a delightful sound bubbling up out of her, and he gave her a brief, short bow, still smiling.

"So," she said, stepping forward again and wrapping her arms around his neck. "There will _be_ a second date, then?"

He winked. "Oh, I think so."

"Hm." She pursed her lips, as though she wanted him to kiss her again. "I'm afraid to say that we have already been to the best place to eat in Storybrooke. Unless you want to get a burger at Granny's, of course."

"Then perhaps I can cook you dinner," he suggested. "Tomorrow night?"

Belle shook her head.

"I can't, it's girls' night," she said.

"Saturday, then."

"I'd like that." Her smile widened, and she kissed him again.

"Eight o'clock?" he asked, and she nodded, stepping back and turning to unlock the door. She looked over her shoulder at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips full and dark from the pressure of his mouth.

"Goodnight, Francis," she said, and he smiled.

"Goodnight, Belle."

He watched her go, the door closing behind her, and turned back up the street with the taste of her still in his mouth. Slipping a cigar from his inside pocket, he lit up, the smoke suggesting a warmth that he didn't feel. The wind was picking up again, the scent of snow lying heavy and sharp in the air, and he put his head down a little and turned into one of the back streets of Storybrooke, heading for the one place that he might find what he was looking for.

* * *

He heard the Rabbit Hole before he saw it, the loud screech of electric guitars somewhat distorted by the closed double doors, and he waited outside for a moment to finish his cigar. His senses were heightened, his instincts sharp. This was a place of danger, of violence. He could feel it. He revelled in it.

One of the doors banged open, making him step backwards, and a man lurched out and promptly threw up within a few feet of him. Ives curled his lip.

"You're such a fucking pussy!" Another man barged out, and Ives's brows narrowed as he recognised the man who had been harassing Belle earlier that evening. Nott, had she called him? The man who had vomited was still lying on the ground, groaning a little, and the other sighed, straightening up. His eyes flicked to Ives, and he scowled.

"Oh, it's _you_ ," he said belligerently. "What the fuck do you want?"

Ives shrugged, and blew out smoke in a thin stream, making Nott's scowl deepen. Ives flicked ash at him, smiled, and turned on his heel, walking at a slow pace down the alley that ran along the side of the club.

"Hey asshole, wait up!" The man was lurching after him, the thump of his feet loud on the packed snow, and Ives ran his gaze over the alleyway, assessing the possible consequences of what he planned.

"I said wait up!" A hand grasped his shoulder, pulling him around, and Ives tried to restrain his anger as he came face to face with Nott. He was young and well-built, and Ives supposed that women would find him attractive. Physically, at least. Dark hair curled over his brow, his face flushed from alcohol. The stink of beer and cigarettes was rolling off him, and Ives curled his lip.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, you can stay away from Belle," growled Nott. "I've been chasing her for months, got it?"

"Then she's clearly not interested," said Ives coldly. "I asked her once, she said yes. Why don't you leave her alone?"

He could sense a certain level of intelligence in the man, and had he not been drunk, the night could have ended very differently. As it was, Nott chose to swing a punch at him, and Ives ducked it smoothly and rammed the lit cigar butt into his eye. The man opened his mouth to scream, and Ives punched him in the throat, stealing his voice and making him stagger backwards and slam against the alley wall. His head connected with the cold stone with a dull, wet _thunk_ , and he slumped to the floor with a groaning sound that issued up from deep within his chest. Ives walked casually behind him, squatting down and wrapping his arm around Nott's throat, squeezing. There was blood on the back of his head, the scent of it drifting through Ives's nostrils, singing to him, making his heart thump and his mouth water with the promise of the power to come. His victim's dying breath was a hollow rattle in the back of his throat, and Ives tightened his grip, squeezing the last of the life from him even as he ran his tongue over the seeping wound on his skull. The flavour was incredible, the first fresh blood he had tasted in weeks, and he moaned a little as his tongue swirled over the ragged edges of the bleeding flesh.

Nott's feet drummed on the frozen ground, and then stilled. The brief trickle of blood slowed and stopped, and Ives licked up the last of it, regretting that he had only had a taste, but recognising that hauling a bleeding body across town wasn't conducive to evading suspicion. He straightened up, heaving the body with him, and flipped it over his shoulder, its weight an easy load with the added fire the fresh blood had given him. Looking around himself, and seeing no one, he made his way casually to the mouth of the alleyway.

It was starting to snow as he traversed the back streets of Storybrooke, picking his way along the path he had already chosen, which wound between empty shops and outbuildings. Luck was on his side, and he passed no one, although he thought he had the weather to thank for the empty streets. He approached his new home from the rear, going straight to the basement and dumping the body across a wooden workbench that sat there. Dusting off his hands, he carefully drew the blinds that covered the small windows, shutting out the night, and took off his coat and jacket, unfolding a leather apron that he had hung on the back of the door for this very purpose. Reaching beneath the workbench, he lifted up his leather bag, and took out a large, leather-wrapped bundle. Placing it carefully on the bench, he unwrapped it, the light reflecting off a number of large knives, a cleaver, and a shiny steel hook.

Ives looked up, to where a number of smaller hooks hung from the ceiling, ready to take coils of rope, or hang canoes and fishing gear. He slotted the looped end of the hook over one of them, giving it a sharp tug with his hand to test it, and smiled to himself as it held firm.

"Come along then," he said quietly, and hoisted the body up until the hook bit into the soft flesh beneath the chin. It sank in, crunching through bone into the base of the skull, and the body swung dolefully, Nott's glazed eyes staring lifelessly back at him. Ives dusted off his hands, looked the body over, and began undressing it, debating what part to eat first. He hummed contentedly as he worked, a cheerful tune that made him smile as he reached for the largest of the knives.

* * *

 **A/N: Yep, Keith gets to be dinner first!**

 **FYI I realise Marco doesn't run a restaurant in Storybrooke, but it's my headcanon that he does, and that he and Granny flirt by swapping old family recipes.**

 **Next time: Ives meets some more people that irritate him (which won't be good for them), and Belle gets quizzed on her date.**


	3. Tempest

**A/N: I've had some interesting theories from readers about where this is going, which is always nice! Anyway, on with the smut, I mean plot :)**

* * *

Ives spent a pleasant evening dismembering the body of his victim and wrapping the pieces in plastic to place in the chest freezer that stood in the corner. He then hosed down the basement, being sure to rinse any tiny traces of blood from the walls and scrub down the workbench. Once the place was clean, he packed a few of the choicest cuts into a hessian bag and carried it up to the kitchen to place in the freezer there. The liver was always a delicious treat, and usually his first meal from a kill, so he ate it seasoned and fried until it was still pink in the middle. He regretted not picking up some wine during the day; a glass or two would have rounded off the meal nicely. Once he was fed, he washed up, feeling his body surge with the power he had ingested. His mind strayed to Belle as he dried the few dishes, and he thought of the way she had moulded to him when he kissed her, the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands. He could feel himself swelling and hardening, a natural, not unwelcome side-effect of dining on the flesh of another, and he looked forward to seeing her again, to kissing her again. To spreading her out on that long table and licking her until she screamed. Now that he had some fresh meat inside him, with more carefully stored, he intended to make use of the increased virility it imbued him with.

Putting the clean dishes away, he pulled on his overcoat and left the house, making the walk back through the driving snow to Granny's for his final night at the inn. Storybrooke was turning out to be extremely enjoyable.

* * *

The storm had blown itself out overnight, but the sky was still grey, and deep drifts lay in the street. Having taken a peek out of the window, Belle sighed before pulling on her thick-soled boots and grabbing a snow shovel, the prospect of clearing the heavy snowfall from outside the door to her apartment making her wish that Storybrooke was further south. To her surprise, however, the door opened easily, and a path had already been cleared around to the double doors of the library. Looking around in astonishment, she saw Leroy and his friend Walter shovelling snow from the path outside Granny's. Leroy winked at her, and she grinned and blew him a kiss, which made him flush a little. Setting the snow shovel back inside, she snatched up her purse and made her way over to Granny's.

The diner was quieter than usual at breakfast time, no doubt due to the heavy snowfall, and Belle slid onto a seat at the bar, waving at Ruby as she made her way back into the kitchens. She looked around for Ives, too, but didn't see him, and she wondered if he had already moved over to the house. Shrugging out of her coat, she debated whether it was too inappropriate to go over there with a housewarming gift of Granny's muffins. Perhaps he wasn't awake yet. She found herself wondering what he wore in bed, and hurriedly shoved the thoughts away before she started blushing.

"Okay, spill!" Ruby placed a hot cocoa in front of her, topped with whipped cream, and a dusting of cinnamon. Belle looked it over.

"Is this some sort of calorific bribe?" she asked, amused.

"Yep!" Ruby leant on the bar, chin on hands. "I need my vicarious groping! Spill! How was your date?"

Belle put her finger into the whipped cream, a russet smear of cinnamon tainting the white mound of foam. Ruby was watching her, bouncing impatiently on her toes, and Belle slipped her finger into her mouth with a grin.

"That good, huh?" remarked Ruby, and Belle blushed.

"Nothing happened," she said. "We kissed, that's all."

"Kissing is good!" insisted Ruby, leaning on the counter. "Kissing is - like a prelude to fucking, or whatever!"

"Ruby!" protested Belle, slapping her hand down. "We didn't do anything like that!"

"Okay, okay!" Ruby stepped backwards, hands in the air. "So you didn't ask him up. No big deal."

"No, I _did_ ," grumbled Belle. "He turned me down."

Ruby blinked. "What? A guy I helped to take you on a date turned down your offer of horizontal smoochies? Sorry Belle, I guess I'm losing my touch."

"Oh, he said he wanted to," added Belle. "Just that it wouldn't be right on the first date, that's all. He's probably right."

"There are no hard and fast rules, sweetie," said Ruby. "Did _you_ want to?"

Belle bit her lip, feeling awkward. "Yes. I know I shouldn't…"

Ruby snorted. "Says who?"

"Well - I only just met him," Belle pointed out. "With Greg it took months before I was ready."

"Yeah, well, that's because he was an idiot," muttered Ruby, and Belle gave her a flat look. Ruby squeezed her hand.

"Look, honey, you don't have to apologise for wanting some intimacy," she said. "Especially when it means that you can tell your friends all the perverse, disgusting details the next day." She smiled brightly, and Belle giggled.

"Well, apart from my rampant libido having to take a cold shower, it was a great night," she said. "He's very polite. He listened to me drone on about books, and the library, and we drank some very good wine… It was really nice. It was nice to go on a date with someone who seemed genuinely interested in - in _me_. Not just in trying to get me into bed, or something. Actually in _me_ as a person."

"Okay, so he's polite, gentlemanly, well-dressed, gives your best friend good tips…" Ruby was nodding slowly. "This is all looking good, Belle. Is he a good kisser?"

Belle was blushing hard now, and took a drink of her cocoa.

"It was - it was pretty awesome, actually," she admitted, and Ruby cackled.

"So, no banging on the first date," she grinned. "Is there gonna be a second date?"

"I'm - going over to his place for dinner tomorrow," said Belle, and Ruby's grin widened.

"Ruby!" said Granny sternly, and she rolled her eyes.

"I'd better get back to work," she said regretfully. "We'll pick this up tonight, okay?"

* * *

It was dark outside by the time Ruby knocked on Belle's door that evening. She was shivering, bouncing up and down on her toes as Belle opened up, and she stumbled through the doorway, knocking the snow from her boots and rubbing her hands.

" _Man_ , it's cold out there!" she complained, and hugged Belle.

"The fire's on, and we have snuggly blankets if you want one," said Belle. "Also we opened the wine. You'll soon warm up when we start discussing the book."

"Mmm, Captain Wentworth!" said Ruby happily, and Belle chuckled.

They made their way up the stairs to where Mary Margaret was already waiting with a glass of wine in hand. Ruby hugged her, and the two women sat down on the battered leather sofa that made up most of Belle's furniture. A stuffed armchair, its cushions covered in dusky pink corduroy, sat next to it, covered in a quilted throw. Ruby sighed as she stretched out her legs towards the fire.

"No Ashley tonight, by the way," she said. "She didn't want to come out in all this snow."

"Understandable," nodded Belle. "She must be ready to have the baby any day now."

"I guess." Ruby took a glass from Mary Margaret, and swallowed some wine. "Mmm! That's good! She keeps saying it shouldn't be too much longer."

"It feels like she's been pregnant _forever_ ," said Mary Margaret, and Ruby snorted.

"That's what _she_ says," she nodded. "Poor thing. I think she's scared."

"Well, who wouldn't be?" Belle brought over a dish of chips and dips and sat down in the squashy armchair next to the sofa. "First kid, bringing it up alone - she's got to be pretty terrified."

"Yeah." Ruby reached over, plucking a couple of chips from the bowl and popping them in her mouth. "Mother Superior came by today. I think she feels Ashley will change her mind the closer it gets to the birth."

Belle frowned. "She should leave Ashley to make up her own mind."

"Agreed," nodded Ruby. "Poor Ashley! Being left in the lurch by that asshole!"

"I'm sure the nuns mean well," said Mary Margaret fairly. "I mean, Ashley doesn't get on with her stepmom, and she only has her job at the diner to bring in cash. Can't see her so-called family helping out. Maybe they think the baby would be better off in a more secure environment."

"They should still stop pressuring her," said Belle, and Ruby nodded, taking another chip and scooping up a bit of onion dip. A white blob hung perilously from the edge as she hooked it into her mouth, but she caught the drip with her tongue.

"So, what about you?" Mary Margaret nudged Belle. "Ruby says you're dating that mysterious stranger in town." She winked, and Belle blushed a little.

"Do you guys have nothing better to talk about than my life?" she asked dryly.

"We have to rely on you to provide gossip," said Ruby, licking salt from her thumb. "When was the last time I went on a date?"

"I actually had a conversation with a male of the species today," put in Mary Margaret, and Ruby looked interested.

"Yeah? How did it go?"

Mary Margaret shrugged, sipping her wine. "Kind of one-sided. It was that coma patient. He's a _really_ good listener."

Belle giggled. "No one's claimed him yet? Poor guy."

"No visitors," confirmed Mary Margaret. "Dr Whale even gave an interview for _The_ _Mirror_ , to see if anyone could remember him, but we've heard nothing. I put flowers in his room, like the other patients, and I talk to him, but there's no response."

"Must have been pretty serious, whatever happened to him." Belle sipped her wine, reaching for the chips.

"Dr Whale says there's nothing wrong with him, other than the coma," said Mary Margaret, finger-combing her short dark hair. "That he could just wake up one day. Or never." She frowned. "It's kind of sad, really. What if he wakes up and there's no one he knows here? No one he loves? What if he _never_ wakes up? I don't know which would be worse."

"You should try kissing him," suggested Ruby. "True love's kiss, like in the fairy tales." She clasped her hands together and batted her lashes.

"Yes, sexually assaulting the patients is a _great_ plan," remarked Mary Margaret, rolling her eyes, and Belle giggled again.

"Anyway, we're getting off topic," announced Ruby. "Belle has a second date with the Colonel tomorrow night, and she's gonna let him bang her senseless, right Belle?"

"I never said that!" protested Belle, and took a drink. "But possibly," she muttered, and Mary Margaret joined in Ruby's giggles.

"So, the first date went well?" she asked. "I'm really pleased, honey."

"Has to be better than whatsisname," said Ruby dismissively.

" _Greg_ ," said Belle patiently. "His name was _Greg_. We were at school together. If I remember rightly, you pushed me into going out with him."

Ruby looked horrified. "Nu-uh! Not me! Must have been Mary Margaret!"

" _Definitely_ not me," remarked Mary Margaret, sipping wine. "I don't remember how the hell that happened. I'm just happy that you came to your senses."

"He wasn't a bad person!" protested Belle, and she shook her head.

"No. But you weren't happy. We want you to be happy, sweetie. Whether that's on your own in the library, or eating burgers at Granny's…"

"...or being eaten out by your new secret true love…" nodded Ruby, and Belle pulled a face.

"Ruby!"

"Yeah, I haven't drunk enough wine to have this conversation," giggled Mary Margaret, blushing. Ruby turned to Belle with a grin.

"So, what are you wearing?" she asked excitedly. "Let me and Mary Margaret dress you up!"

"Well, I know it's more of a summery thing," said Belle, grinning. "But do you remember that dark blue tea-dress I bought?"

"Oh, that's cute! Yes, wear that!" Ruby pursed her lips. "You'll need stockings, it's way too cold for bare legs. What about underwear?"

She pushed herself up off the sofa and ran through to Belle's bedroom, ignoring her squawk of protest. Belle and Mary Margaret followed, and Belle rolled her eyes as she saw Ruby going through her top drawer.

"Girl, you and I are going lingerie shopping tomorrow," said Ruby sternly.

"What's wrong with my underwear?" protested Belle, and Ruby held up a pair of high-waisted cotton panties with a look of disappointment.

"Seriously, Belle? These could belong to Granny."

Belle snatched them off her, sticking out her tongue.

"Those are my period panties, thank you very much."

"Oh. Okay, then." Ruby rifled the collection a little more. "We're still going shopping."

Belle and Mary Margaret shared a look, and Belle let out a fond sigh.

* * *

Saturday morning was bright and clear, and Ives took his time wandering the town.

It was clear that the Storybrooke folks were a hardy bunch, which was only to be expected in Maine. Despite the bitter wind and thick snow, the residents of the town were out early clearing their paths and driveways, and almost every shop was open by nine. He decided to buy himself some new clothes, as he had made up his mind that he was going to be staying in the town for at least a little while. The clothing outlets were less than inspiring, but there was a halfway decent menswear store, and he bought enough to ensure that he would be well turned out for the remainder of his time there. He had spent a pleasant first night at his new home, with a dinner of fried sweetbreads and a steak sliced from the left thigh of his victim. He drank a glass of excellent red wine with it, enjoying the way the fire and life filled his veins and made him hungry for more.

The following day he walked into town again, hands shoved deep into his pockets as the wind clutched at his coat and tried to get through it. He had been thinking over what to cook for Belle, and while the thought of eating regular food while he had a freezer full of Keith Nott was depressing, he reminded himself that he could always make up a dish of chopped, fried organs as snacks and keep it in the fridge in case he felt the need during the evening. He browsed the shelves of the store, frowning to himself as he made his selections, and eventually took himself down to the harbour, where he was able to buy some seafood from one of the fishermen there. Purchases made, he went back to the house to prepare for Belle's arrival.

* * *

Ruby insisted on driving Belle over to the pink house, despite her protests.

"You can't walk through the snow in those heels," Ruby pointed out. "And if you think I'm gonna let you mess up that outfit with snow boots, you're insane. Now get in."

Rolling her eyes, Belle got in the car, although she wasn't sure that driving on snowy roads was a good plan either. At least the snow had stopped falling, although she had heard another storm was on its way. The headlights of the car shone brightly against the drifts piled by the roadsides as they set off at a leisurely pace.

"Okay, so make sure you have a good time," said Ruby, her eyes on the road.

"I will," said Belle, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Do you have condoms? I have some if you need 'em."

"I'm good, thanks, Rubes."

"Did you put clean panties in your purse in case you stay over?"

"Oh my God, Ruby, yes!" Belle put her head in her hands as Ruby snickered.

"Good. If you need me to come and pick you up, just call me, okay?"

"Yes, _Mom_ ," said Belle sarcastically, and Ruby stuck out her tongue.

Once Ruby had dropped her off, Belle made her way somewhat gingerly up the icy path to the steps of the house. She was carrying a plastic tub with a chocolate cake in it, having decided to bring a housewarming gift after all, and she tucked it under one arm as she held onto the rail to keep her balance, snow clinging to the toes of her shoes as she climbed the steps. The sound of Ruby's engine ticking over followed her up, and she knocked on the door. Light was already shining through the stained, rippled glass, and she watched as he came towards her, his dark silhouette shifting and growing. Ives opened the door, and Belle caught her breath slightly as she met his eyes. He was looking very good, in a black silk shirt beneath his waistcoat. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, and Belle felt her belly tighten with sudden desire.

"Hello, Belle." He looked over her shoulder, nodding to Ruby, and Belle heard the car pull away.

"I brought chocolate cake," she said, holding up the plastic tub. "It's home-made, although not by me, I have to confess."

"That's very thoughtful."

He took the cake from her, setting it on the hall table and shutting the door behind her, and she pulled off her hat, scarf and gloves and began unbuttoning her coat. The feel of Ives's fingers on her shoulders made her shiver a little, and he drew the coat from her, sliding it down her arms, his fingertips brushing against her skin. He was standing very close behind her, and she could feel his cool breath on the back of her neck.

"You're looking very beautiful," he said quietly, and she shivered.

"Thank you." She turned as he hung up her coat. "You can kiss me, if you want."

He smiled then, an almost wicked glint in his eyes, and reached up to cup her face, lowering his mouth to hers. Belle moaned as their lips touched, breathing in his scent as he opened her up and tasted her. Her hands slid around his waist, moving up his back and pulling him closer, and she could feel her arousal building as he pushed her back against the wall. He was already hard, pressed up against her belly, and her abdomen was clenching with need as he kissed her. Perhaps dinner could wait… She tried to communicate her desire to him, deepening the kiss, her tongue sliding against his, but then he broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he moved back a little. Belle could feel her heart thumping with excitement. Yep. Definitely a good idea to pack the spare panties.

"Would you like a drink?" he said softly, and she swallowed, trying to calm herself.

"Yes, please."

She followed him through to the kitchen, watching the way his body moved in his clothes. There was a delicious smell coming from the oven, and she breathed in deeply.

"Something smells good," she said, and he turned to her with a grin as he set the cake on the kitchen counter.

"Potatoes _dauphinois_ ," he said. "I put them in around ten minutes ago, so it'll be a while. I hope you like fillet steak."

"Delicious." She felt her eyes light up, and his smile widened.

"A drink, then."

He turned to one of the cupboards and took out two wine glasses, and she watched the tug and pull of the muscles in his back and shoulders as he uncorked a bottle of red wine. She imagined how it would feel to run her hands over his skin, to have nothing between them but their own perspiration. Shaking her head, she wondered what was wrong with her. Surely she hadn't been this desperate for sex before? Okay, maybe it had been a while, but even so…

"I presume you're happy to stick with red?"

His voice made her start, and she blushed as he turned to her, holding out a glass.

"Yes, thank you." She took it, dark red liquid swirling in the bowl, and hid her face a little as she took a drink.

"Please." Ives gestured to the dining room. "Have a seat."

He watched her go as she walked through, glass in hand. She was wearing a dark blue tea dress with a round collar, that buttoned all the way up the front, a thin red belt encircling her waist. The skirt swished around her thighs as she walked, shapely legs and small feet in ridiculously high dark red shoes. Her hair was up on her head, shining in the light, and silver drop earrings swung from her pale lobes. She looked very elegant, with an air of innocence that he found highly alluring. He wondered how far she would want to take things, given her obvious disappointment at his refusal to go up to her apartment the other night. If she wanted him, though, he would be more than happy to indulge her.

Two places had been set at the long wooden table, one at the head, and one to the side of it. An intimate setting, two candles already burning in thick glass holders, and Belle smiled briefly as she chose her seat at the side. He followed her though, pulling out the chair for her and pushing it in as she took a seat, her hands spreading out her skirt beneath her. Setting down his wineglass, he walked back into the kitchen, crossed to the fridge and took out the large dish of crushed ice, on which sat a dozen oysters in their shells. He had been in two minds whether to buy them, as they were not to everyone's taste, but Belle's eyes widened as he carried them through.

"Ooh, I love oysters!" she said happily, as he set the dish between them and took a seat.

"Please, help yourself."

He gestured at the open shells, with the thick, greyish meat sitting in them, wet and glistening. Belle picked up a fork and took an oyster, prising at the meat to loosen it. He had set out cut lemon wedges in the dish of ice, and she squeezed some over before tipping her head back and swallowing the meat. He watched her pale throat bob as it went down, her eyes closing with an expression of bliss. The tip of her tongue darted out to sweep a drop of juice from her lip, and he could feel himself stirring. Belle let out a low, satisfied noise as she swallowed, her lips parting.

"That is _so_ good," she murmured.

Ives took one himself, squeezing lemon over the flesh and using his fork to free it from the shell. He swallowed it whole, the fresh taste of the sea filling his mouth and nose as the slippery meat slid down his throat. Belle watched him over the rim of her wine glass, her eyes wide and deep blue in the candlelight. He wanted to touch her, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked, to let down her hair and feel it run through his fingers as he kissed her, as he took her. Perhaps she would agree. He could sense the tension in her, the arousal, the _need_. There was a flush high in her cheeks, her breath coming a little harder than it should as she looked at him, and he smiled to himself.

"Why don't you tell me about your life, Belle," he asked, reaching for another oyster, playing for time, drawing things out. "You said you wanted to travel. Where would you like to go?"

"Oh, everywhere!" she said enthusiastically. "I want to go to Paris and eat croissants and drink coffee and go to the Louvre and Versailles. I want to go to England, and walk around the castles there, and hike in the Lake District. I want to take a boat out on one of the Scottish lochs and run through the valleys. I want to go to South America and visit the old temples and see the Nazca Lines." She threw up her hands, a faraway expression on her face. "There's just - there's so much I'd love to see, and sometimes it feels as though life is - is just _stopping_ me somehow."

She leant on the table, a tiny, frustrated frown on her face.

"What about you, Francis?" she asked. "You're a military man, you must have seen some of the world, right?"

He took a mouthful of wine, inclining his head.

"Well, I can tell you about Canada," he said dryly. "Extremely cold. Lots of snow. And bears, for those less fortunate."

"Oh." Belle pulled a face. "No thanks, we get more than enough snow here in Storybrooke."

She ate another oyster, and he watched her, the smooth taste of the wine still in his mouth. She gestured at the rosary wound around his hand.

"So, you're Catholic?" she asked, and he pulled a face.

"Not exactly," he said. "More of a lucky charm, I guess. A talisman. I had a bad accident. I was told I should have been dead. Anyway, I had this. Don't even remember where I got it. Since then I've made sure it's always with me." He took a drink. "A ridiculous superstition, I know."

"I don't think so," protested Belle. "We all have our lucky numbers, or lucky hats, or lucky underwear…" She trailed off, and he grinned wickedly.

"Well, I don't have any of that," he said amused, and she hurriedly changed the subject, blushing a little. He listened as she described some of the residents of Storybrooke to him, smiling at her tales.

"I met the butcher today," he said, as she took a drink. "A fearsome woman. Not sure I'd turn my back if she had a cleaver in her hand."

Belle giggled. "Yes, she does look as though she's thinking about murdering someone," she agreed. "The meat's good, though."

"Speaking of which." He pushed his chair back. "I should go and make a start on our main course, wouldn't you say?"

Belle watched as he refilled their glasses and took the dish of empty oyster shells with him. She could hear him opening the oven, checking on the potatoes and getting out pans, and she was looking forward to the meal. She was hungry, and the smells that were coming from the kitchen were certainly tempting. She picked up her glass and walked to the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the door frame as she looked him over. He was seasoning the fillet steak, a heavy pan already smoking with oil, and there was a loud hiss as he placed the meat in it. Belle watched him work, enjoying the way the light caught the silk of his shirt and the way his lean limbs moved beneath his clothes. He fried the steak, taking it out of the pan to rest and making a glossy sauce with the meat juices and red wine.

"Can I help?" asked Belle, and he turned with a grin, dark hair shining in the light as he whisked in some butter.

"I'm almost done. Please, take a seat."

He was true to his word, and within a few minutes there was a plate in front of her, with two pieces of fillet steak, steamed buttered kale and a craggy mound of golden-topped potatoes, their creamy sauce spreading slowly across the plate. Belle's mouth watered as Ives poured some of the red wine sauce over.

"This smells so good," she said. "Where did you learn to cook?"

"Ah." He tended to his own steak, setting the small jug of sauce back on the table. "Well, when one is in the more remote outposts, one learns to make anything edible. It can be weeks between supply runs, but there is plentiful game around. If one knows where to look."

Belle took a bite of the steak with the greens, the flavour exploding across her tongue, sweetness from the caramelised edges of the meat and the red wine sauce, complemented by the slight bitterness of the kale. The meat was moist and tender, and she tried to convey her appreciation for the dish with her eyes, which made him grin.

"I'll chalk that one up as a success, then," he said.

They ate in silence for a while, and as the plates cleared fell into conversation once more. The topics were light; they discussed favourite foods and books, and more on where Belle wanted to travel to. Eventually they finished, and he cleared away the plates, waving away her offer of help with the dishes. Belle listened as he washed the few plates in the kitchen, the bright clink of china and slosh of water. She had already half made up her mind before she had come over, but now she was certain what she wanted. She wanted him.

Ives was pleased to have been left alone with the washing up. It was only the work of minutes, after all, and it meant that he could go to the fridge, open up the plastic tub on the top shelf and take out of a few pieces of cold, cooked meat. He popped them into his mouth and chewed as he scrubbed the frying pan; fillet steak was all very well, but the energy, the power that came from human flesh, was something far more satisfying. Drying his hands on a towel, he went back through to the dining room, and refilled their glasses with the last of the wine.

"Would you - care for dessert?" he asked quietly.

"No, thank you. Not right now." She was chewing her lip adorably. "Maybe - maybe we could eat it later?"

"As you wish."

He sat back down, picking up his glass. A silence seemed to have fallen between them, a tense, heavy silence. Belle seemed nervous, fidgety, her knees rubbing together as though she was clenching her muscles. He took a long, slow, swallow of wine, and waited for her to speak. Eventually she looked up, earrings swinging and glinting.

"I - just want you to know," she said hesitantly. "I know we kind of touched on it last time, but just to clarify. I fully intend on sleeping with you tonight, if that's okay with you."

Belle took a sip of wine so that she had something to do with her hands, wishing she didn't blush so easily. His eyebrows had shot up at her words, and there was a moment of deafening silence, before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Well, well," he remarked. "You're very - forthright - Miss French. I admire that."

"Life is short," she said, shrugging.

"And brutal. Indeed."

He was watching her, running a finger over his lip and making the hairs of his moustache gleam as they caught the light. She remembered the slightly coarse feel of it against her mouth as they had kissed, and briefly wondered how it would feel between her legs. She swallowed, blushing harder, and Ives set down his empty glass and sat back in his chair, crooking a finger.

"Come here," he whispered.

She pushed back her chair, feeling her breath quicken a little, and walked slowly around to him. Ives pushed his own chair back, and gently took her hand and drew her in front of him, her back to the table. He stood up, his hands sliding up her sides, and she felt her lips part as he touched her face, fingers gently stroking over her skin, the beads of the rosary cold and hard against her.

"Are you sure, Belle?" he whispered, and she nodded, tilting her head back as he bent to kiss her. The kiss was soft, sweet, just as it had been on their first date, but there was hunger there too, a rough, red desire that she could feel thrumming through her body and in the taut muscles of his arms. She pressed herself against him, moaning a little as his hands slipped down to cup her breasts. Ives broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck to gently bite at her pulse point, and Belle shuddered with pleasure, her fingers carding his hair. She could feel his fingers then, tugging at the tiny buttons of her dress, and she wanted to help him, but he was nimbly plucking them open one by one, the dress gaping from chest to waist. He paused at the red belt, unfastening it and letting it hang from its loops as he returned to the buttons. Thanking her stars that she had listened to Ruby about the underwear, Belle let him continue, until the dress was all the way open.

Ives let out a low noise of pleasure as he looked at her, a noise that went straight to her core. His hands pushed aside the dress, baring her body in the lace top hold-ups and the cornflower blue underwear set.

"Beautiful," he whispered, and bent to kiss her breasts, his mouth warm and moist through the lace cups. His hands slid beneath her rear, and Belle clutched at him as he lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the table. The wood was cold against her buttocks, and she wrapped her legs around him, taking some of the heat from his body. He slid his hands up her thighs, his touch hot, sending tingles through her, and she moaned as his thumbs stroked higher, moving in between her legs, closer to where she wanted him, where she needed him. He kissed back up her neck, finding her mouth, letting his tongue touch hers as he slid his thumb into the cleft between her thighs. Belle moaned at his touch, knowing that she was wet, feeling him spreading her fluids with the pad of his thumb as he rubbed at her. His touch felt amazing, making her breath catch and her cheeks flush and her heart thump with excitement. He drew back, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his mouth hovering over hers so that she could feel his warm breath.

"Lie back," he whispered, gesturing with a finger, and she lowered herself back on the table top, gazing up at the ceiling. His wine glass was near her; she could smell the sharp, fruity scent of the dregs of wine in the bottom. His hands were on her waist, gently pulling at her underwear, and she lifted her hips so her could draw it down her legs, baring her to his sight. She could feel the blush in her cheeks intensify. He was looking down at her, his breath coming hard in his chest, and he flicked his eyes up to meet hers with hunger in his gaze, a spark of something almost dark and feral. He lowered his mouth to her belly, kissing the smooth skin beneath her navel as he made his way down, and then his mouth was on her and Belle was lost.

She had known that people did this, of course, but it had never happened that much to her. Greg had always refused, saying he didn't like it, or it was too much effort, or something along those lines. She couldn't actually remember him doing in in their whole relationship. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember much about their sex life at all. It was - fuzzy, faded. A few good memories clouded by her own indifference. She wasn't even sure that she could picture his face anymore. What Ives was doing, the way he was making her feel with his tongue and his lips and the friction of his facial hair… She groaned, arching her back as he swept his tongue over her clit. He was licking her rhythmically, increasing the speed and the pressure, and she could feel her climax building. She was going to come, right here on his dining room table. She didn't care. Lights burst in her head and she let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm broke, making her shudder and jerk. She could feel his tongue still delicately tracing her folds, licking up her fluids, his hands pushing her thighs apart, the beads of the rosary pressing into her flesh.

Her belly was clenching, little moans still escaping her, and she felt his touch on her thighs, sliding up to grasp her hands and pull her upright. Belle moved sluggishly, allowing him to tug her off the table and hold her up as she flopped against him, her body heavy and sleepy with bliss. She was warm and contented, his touch on her hair, the scent of her pleasure on his face, and he held her close, his breath on her ear making her shiver.

"Bed?" he whispered, and she nodded happily.

He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her out of the kitchen and up the stairs as though she weighed nothing. She watched from beneath heavy lids as he carried her up to what she recognised as the master bedroom, the French antique bed with its tall, elaborately carved headboard and the red sheets. He let her down carefully and kissed her again, gently pushing the dress from her shoulders and down her arms until it fell to the floor at her feet. Reaching behind to unhook her bra, he let that fall too, and she stood naked except for stockings and heels, feeling a little self-conscious as he looked her over.

"I think you're a little over-dressed," she said, and he grinned.

"Yes, I expect so." He reached up, pulling pins from her hair and loosening the knot, using his fingers to part the strands as it bounced around her shoulders. His smile widened.

"My, my," he said softly, and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She leant into his touch, and he ran his thumb over her lower lip, gently pulling it down as he kissed her. Belle plucked at the buttons of his waistcoat, opening it up and sliding her hands inside to feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt. His mouth left hers, kissing down her neck, and she moaned a little, pressing herself against him. A thought occurred to her, and she stiffened in his arms, making him pull back and look at her curiously.

"What is it?"

"I - left the condoms in my purse," she said, and he smiled, kissing her forehead.

"I have some. In the drawer of the nightstand."

"Oh." She looped her arms around his neck, raising a brow. "Confident, were you?"

He pursed his lips. "Intuitive," he said, and kissed her again, moving her back towards the bed. She lay back, lifting her feet so that he could unfasten her shoes, and then propped herself up on her elbows so that she could watch him as he stood above her, still fully dressed. He shrugged out of the waistcoat, draping it over the back of a chair and got onto the bed on hands and knees, looming over her. Belle began unfastening the silk cravat he wore, pulling at the smooth ends of it, plucking at the knot and tugging it open to unwind the length of black silk from around his throat. For a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to have him bind her wrists with it, to be tied down and at his mercy, and her heart thumped with excitement at the unfamiliar urge. He slid his knees up on either side of her, kneeling up to unfasten the shirt and shrug it from his shoulders, and she ran her eyes over his body. He was lean and pale, small, firm muscles beneath a smooth chest, a wiry strength to him. She reached out, running her thumb over one dark nipple, and he sucked in a breath and grinned at her, his hands dropping to unfasten his belt and pants.

"In the drawer," he said again, and rolled off her onto his back to deal with his boots and pants. Belle turned on her side a little, reaching out to the nightstand and rummaging in it until she found the box of condoms. She felt his hand on her hip, sliding down her thigh and hooking under the lace top of her stocking. He pulled it down, tugging it off at her foot, and followed with the other, leaving her fully naked. Belle was breathing heavily, her excitement growing, and he gently turned her onto her back so that she was looking up at him. She reached up to touch his face, running gentle fingertips over the lines around his eyes, those eyes that seemed older than his years, that gleamed darkly. He was as naked as she, now, but she kept her eyes on his face, her gaze locked with his, as he put on a condom.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly, and she nodded.

Ives moved over her, so that he was lying between her legs, reaching down to touch her. She was still wet from her orgasm, from his tongue, and he lined them up, pushing the head of his cock just inside her entrance. Belle's breathing quickened, her eyes widening as she looked up at him, and he kissed her a little raggedly, his saliva wetting her lips and his tongue sweeping around her mouth. Brushing the dark curls of her hair back from her face, he slid slowly inside her, and she tightened around him, so he waited a moment. Belle had stiffened, her brow crinkling.

"Are you alright?" he asked breathlessly, and she nodded.

"It's okay, I'm just - I guess I'm a little nervous. It's been a long time."

"We can stop, it's not a problem."

"No, no, it's okay."

She seemed tense, and he was suddenly struck with a thought, a suspicion.

"Belle," he said gently. "You have - done this before?"

"Of course!" she said, almost indignantly. "Lots of times! I told you, I split up with my ex and he left town over a year ago. I guess he wasn't as - as - nevermind. Just - just give me a moment."

He stayed completely still, waiting. She wriggled a little, wincing, and he felt her open for him, allowing him to push deep. Belle let her head roll back with a sigh, her expression clearing, and for a moment he lay there, all the way inside her, letting her relax. Something caught his heightened senses: the familiar, intoxicating scent of human blood, and he felt his breath quicken with excitement. He bent his head to kiss her, and as Belle opened her mouth to him he gently pulled out of her, kissing his way across her cheek and down her neck, over the curves of her breasts and the hollow of her navel until he was down between her legs. The scent was stronger, and he slipped two fingers inside her, his thumb gently working her clit. Belle arched her back with a moan and he drew the fingers out, a dark smear of blood there with her own fluids. A couple of drops only, but he wondered why she had felt the need to lie about her past. Perhaps she had not. Perhaps her ex only had a two-inch cock and had never managed to penetrate her fully. It mattered not.

Slowly, he slipped the fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of her, sucking every last bit from them before bending his head to her and licking her slowly and rhythmically, the delicious taste of her blood on his tongue. Belle was moaning, her fingers in his hair, her hips moving to increase the pressure, and he let his tongue trace a circle around her clit, the little nub hard and swollen with her desire. He could feel her body stiffening, her muscles tensing, and he used the flat of his tongue, rubbing over her, making her writhe and cry out as she tugged at his hair. The blood had given him a rush of energy, and he _badly_ wanted to fuck her, but he carried on licking her, his tongue stroking through her soft flesh and sweeping up the taste of her. She was close, he could tell, already sensitive from her earlier climax, and suddenly she broke with a wail, her hips bucking as his tongue was bathed in hot white fluids, the delicious tang of blood still there. He was painfully hard, his desire to be inside her almost unbearable, and he pressed a final kiss to her wet flesh, the scent of her soaking into his beard. He began kissing his way back up her twitching body, spreading the smell of her as he went. Belle was breathing hard, almost panting, and by the time he reached her neck and pushed himself up on his elbows, she was gazing up at him with eyes sleepy and dark with lust. Her lower lip was plump and red where she had bitten it, and he thought she was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Are you ready now?" he asked quietly, and she nodded vigorously.

"That was incredible," she whispered, stroking his hair back, and he smiled.

"Yes."

It had been. She tasted amazing, and not just from the power in her blood. She filled him with life, with light, made him want to get closer to her, to be all the way inside her, to feel her moving against him and taking her pleasure. He lined them up carefully, his touch gentle against flesh already swollen and sensitive. This time, entering her was easy, and she gasped as he slid home, drawing her legs up to let him go deeper. Ives sank into her with a groan, letting his head roll back, his eyes closed in pleasure. Her hands were caressing him, moving softly over the skin of his back and sides, her touch as light as a feather. He bent his head to kiss her, beginning to move, her walls like silk around him, gripping him firmly.

"Oh!" she breathed, and he smiled against her skin, his tongue running over her pulse point and making her shiver.

"You feel wonderful," he whispered, continuing to move inside her, slow, gentle thrusts.

"So do you." she flicked her eyes up to meet his, and he kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth and his hands stroking up over her cheeks and into her hair. He increased the power of his movements, but not the pace, grinding against her in a slow circle, and Belle pulled her mouth from his with a gasp as he pushed inside her, warmth and wetness and friction down where they were joined. He bit down into her neck, making her groan, tasting the salt on her skin, breathing in the scent of her perfume and her fresh perspiration and the sweet musk of her pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his back, lifting her hips a little so that he filled her completely, and he slid an arm beneath her and pulled her with him as he knelt up, tugging her close against him so that she could move in small, shallow thrusts, her breath coming in pants as she worked her way to another climax. He bent his head to her breasts as she moved, kissing the pale white flesh, his tongue swirling over her taut nipples and making her moan. He sucked at her, leaving small red marks on her skin, loving the feel of her fingers in his hair, tugging at it as she neared her peak, her movements becoming erratic, her whole body tensing. She came hard, throwing her head back with a cry, and he wrapped both arms around her and held her close as she jerked in his arms, breath shuddering through her as she clung to him. He kissed her damp, flushed cheek as she calmed.

"My turn," he whispered.

Belle tried to catch her breath as he bore her down on the bed, her head still spinning, her entire body tingling. He was breathing hard, his thrusts quicker, stronger, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on how it felt to have him inside her, how good it felt, how hard and thick he was. She looked up at him, locked eyes with him, and reached up to brush the hair back from his face, a sheen of sweat on his skin. She could see that he was tensing, that was nearing his peak, the muscles of his chest jumping and flexing as he moved, and she arched her back as he quickened his pace, slamming into her, filling her, taking her. He let out a long, groaning cry as he came, and she felt him pulse inside her, his thrusts becoming quick and shallow as he pumped his hips. Eventually he slowed, gasping for breath, and kissed across the top of her chest and up her neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat and then licking across her jaw to her mouth. She could taste herself on him as they kissed, the salt from her skin and her own arousal, and she let her hands sink into his hair, pressing her body against his as she felt him start to soften inside her.

Belle pulled her mouth free, rubbing her head against him like a contented cat.

"That was amazing," she whispered, and felt him smile.

"Yes." He reached down between them to grasp the condom as he pulled out of her, and looked down at her, his dark eyes softened, his lust sated.

"Will you stay?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.

"If that's okay," she said, and he nodded agreement.

"Just as long as you're aware that I will probably be waking you up during the night," he added, and Belle grinned.

"Fine by me."

* * *

 **A/N: Man, I didn't mean for this chapter to be so long! Okay, so that's the first piece of smut out of the way.**

 **Next time: Another disappearance, and suspicions are starting to grow. Particularly as far as the Mayor is concerned.**


	4. Lightning Strikes Twice

**A/N: Okay guys, I know that Hook was still supposed to be in the EF during the first curse, but I had too many votes for his grisly demise at Ives's hands that I had to tweak canon a bit more to get him in here. But then, Eddy and Adam do it all the time, so… Anyway, I had to give him a new name, obviously, and having sought suggestions on tumblr and received numerous hilarious ones such as St. Eak Tartare, James Scrumptious Lunch and Asswipe McDickerson (lol), I finally went with Newport, given that Christopher Newport is rumoured to be a possible real life inspiration for J M Barrie's Hook. I liked the fact that the name references the sea, too. Thanks to skinnycanuck for the article on this. I gave him the first name of James, as that was the original Captain Hook's first name. Smee is also in this fic, and I gave him the name Swain, as he was Hook's boatswain in the book.**

 **This chapter will have violence, blood and cannibalism, just FYI. Oh, and this is S1 Storybrooke, so Regina is very much the Evil Queen and as such is being kinda creepy with Graham :(**

* * *

They didn't bother getting out of bed for any longer than a few minutes at a time. Ives brought a bottle of wine upstairs, and they had another glass each and ate a piece of the chocolate cake she had brought, Ives licking frosting from her skin when she dropped some on herself. This encouraged her to drop some more, entirely by accident of course, and some time later Belle found herself gasping for breath and admiring his stamina. Afterwards, they spooned together in the darkness, and she felt her eyes slide closed, surrounded by his warmth.

He kept his word to wake her up, soft kisses against her shoulders in the dark, making her smile and yawn. His hand slid down over her belly, feeling between her legs and making her gasp as he began to stroke her. Belle arched her back, rubbing her head against his, and he lifted her leg and draped it over his own so that he could push into her from behind, his teeth gently sinking into her neck as he thrust. It was slow and sleepy and very, very good, and when they had finished she turned around and buried her head in his chest with a contented sigh, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.

Her bladder woke her at the first dim light of dawn, and she slipped from his grasp, pulling on his shirt and padding to the bathroom. He was watching her as she returned, lying on his front with a lazy smile and a sleepy look of lust in his eyes, and she was very tempted to get back into bed, but if she did she was likely to spend all day there, and she had things to do. Besides, she was hungry.

"How about breakfast at Granny's?" she suggested. "My treat?"

He only looked slightly disappointed before agreeing readily, and she watched as he got up and dressed, pulling pants and a clean shirt over his lean frame. She was pleased to have brought clean underwear with her, but she wanted to change her dress and shoes for something more suitable. She sat down on the bed to wait as he washed and shaved, pulling the tangles out of her hair with her fingers and listening to the trickle and splash of water from the bathroom. Yes. A change of clothes, followed by pancakes and plenty of coffee, then a hot shower. Stretching, she rolled her shoulders, her body aching pleasantly. It had been a very enjoyable evening, and she hoped that he would want to do it again. She pressed a hand to her belly, smiling to herself as she felt it tug and pull at the memory of his hands on her, of his mouth on her, of how he felt inside her. She felt her cheeks heat a little, and stood up, something the skirt of her dress and pacing back and forth to distract herself from the memories as she listened to him letting out the water and rinsing out the sink.

He came through, his cheeks a little pink from the hot water, his beard and moustache neatly trimmed and his hair brushed back. He smelt of some sort of woody cologne, and she breathed in deeply as he fastened his shirt, dark eyes looking her over.

"I should have made you coffee," he said, and she shook her head.

"It's fine. We can get one at Granny's. I just need to stop off at my place and change, okay?"

He grinned then, raising an eyebrow as he looped a tie around his neck.

"Not wanting to let people know what you were up to last night?"

"Oh, Ruby'll know as soon as I walk in," she said dryly. "I'd rather the rest of Storybrooke didn't, though."

* * *

They walked there, cold from the frozen ground seeping through her impractical shoes and numbing her feet, and she hung on his arm to keep her balance. Ives had looked at her askance a couple of times and offered to carry her, but she was enjoying the stretch in her legs and the cold air on her cheeks. She pulled back as they reached her apartment.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said. "D'you want to come up?"

In answer, he drew a cigar from his pocket and waved it at her somewhat apologetically, and she nodded with a grin before disappearing through the door that led to her apartment.

Ives drew on his lit cigar, watching as the town came to life in the bitter cold of the early morning. There were a few of the residents bustling along, walking dogs or trotting over to Granny's diner with bowed heads to avoid the worst of the chill. He saw the Mayor, striding purposefully along as proud as a queen, as though the snow-covered sidewalks were decked in flowers to celebrate her coming. She caught his eye as she paused outside the small bakery, and he inclined his head to her in greeting. She frowned, pushing open the door and disappearing from view, and he blew out smoke in a curling stream, ears pricking at the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Ready?" said Belle, a little breathlessly.

She had tied up her hair and put on a dark wool dress over thick tights and wedge-heeled boots, deep red lipstick making her look even more kissable than he had thought. Her eyes were sparkling, a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and he thought how beautiful she was, how full of life and warmth.

"Pancakes!" she announced, and he offered her his arm, flicking ash with a tap of his index finger as they strolled across the road. Taking a final drag from the cigar, he quenched it in the two inches of fresh snow that clung to the top of the fence outside the diner, leaving a dark, sooty bullet-wound of a hole in the pristine white. Belle led the way up the steps, unwinding the scarf from her neck as she pushed open the door, and he followed her in, scanning the diner for any threat and finding nothing. Ruby smirked as she spotted them, her face breaking into a wide grin that made Belle blush. She leant on the bar, waggling her eyebrows.

"Well, good morning you two!" she said slyly. "Need a hearty breakfast? Work up an appetite last night? Or was it this morning? Both?"

"Oh my God!" muttered Belle, but Ives merely showed his teeth.

"Coffee and pancakes, please Miss Lucas."

"Oh, you can _definitely_ call me Ruby," she said, pointing a finger at him. "Anyone who can make my girl look all smug like that gets special treatment in here."

"Make it two on the coffee and pancakes," sighed Belle. "Hold the public humiliation."

Ruby cackled and jotted down the order, trotting through to the kitchen, and Ives took Belle's coat from her shoulders and pulled out a chair for her at a table by the window.

"What are your plans for today?" he asked, when they were both seated, and Belle shrugged.

"Laundry. Chores. It's my only real day off and I like to clean the apartment and do the ironing. What about you?"

He looked around, dark eyes scanning the diner and the street outside.

"I thought I might explore some more of the town," he mused. "Possibly go for a walk in the woods. I'm sure it's very beautiful around here."

"Oh, you should take the hiking trail out to the old toll bridge," she suggested. "It's a pretty walk, even in the snow."

"I think I might do that."

He thanked Ruby as she set two coffees in front of them, and Belle stirred some cream into hers, tapping the spoon against the edge of the cup before laying it down.

"You - could always come over this evening," she ventured. "If - if you wanted to."

He lifted his cup, the coffee black and strong and fragrant, and smiled at her.

"Then perhaps I'll see you later," he said.

The pancakes arrived, and Belle poured liberal amounts of syrup and dug into them with enthusiasm. He ate more slowly, thinking of what was waiting for him back at the house and therefore having little appetite for pancakes, no matter how good. Ruby poured them extra coffee as she passed, and he could at least enjoy that, the brew rich, dark and bitter. His eyes scanned the diner as he ate, flicking from door to bar to the tables around them, but the other diners kept to themselves, concentrating on their plates or the newspapers held in front of them. The door opened with a blast of cold air and the Mayor walked in, striding up to the bar and calling for her order. He kept an eye on her, her full lips twisting a little as she took a brown cardboard carrier with two coffee cups in it from Ruby. She gave him a level look as she passed, but said nothing, leaving the diner with her coffees in hand. Ives shrugged to himself, wondering why she seemed so suspicious of him. Perhaps she simply didn't like strangers. Perhaps she was more intuitive than the others in this town. Either way it paid to be cautious around her.

* * *

Mayor Mills had made it across the street from Granny's before turning to frown at the diner. The stranger in town made her nervous. Of course, given the circumstances, anything she didn't expect or couldn't control in this town made her nervous, but the anxiety caused by the appearance of this Colonel Ives was on a far higher scale than the child and his father all those years ago. He reminded her of - no, that was ridiculous, of course. The curse had been cast twenty-eight years ago and anyone outside of its boundaries would have aged, but there was something in his eyes… As she mulled over her suspicions, the door to the diner opened, and he stepped out ahead of the French girl, turning to face her. The two were talking, but she couldn't hear what they were saying, their voices snatched away by the cold breeze.

"Who _is_ that man?" she muttered under her breath.

"Regina?" Graham's voice made her turn, and she let the frown clear from her face as he approached her, the wind ruffling his hair.

"That man," she said quietly. "Find out who he is, and what he's doing here."

Ives finished speaking, and the French girl grinned up at him, batting her eyes like a fool as he cupped her face in his hands and bent to kiss her. Regina felt her lip curl. _So_.

"Well, you wanted to know what he was doing…" said Graham blandly, and she turned on him with a glare.

"Thank you, Sheriff, I have eyes! I want you to do a little digging. I don't trust him."

"I'm sure he's just passing through," said Graham reasonably. "Belle's an adult, she can date whoever she wants."

"Oh, I don't care if she fucks him every which way!" snapped Regina. "I _care_ that this town doesn't get visitors, and then all of a sudden he shows up and rents Mr Gold's house!"

"Why does that matter?" asked Graham, and she hesitated, before modifying her expression and smiling at him.

"Call it intuition," she said sweetly, putting a hand on his chest and making his jaw drop open a little. She rarely touched him in public. "I don't trust him. And when I don't trust people, I get scared. I'm sure you can understand why I need your help with this."

Graham's eyes looked a little glazed, and he nodded as she withdrew her hand, red-painted fingernails running down over the zipper of his jacket with a harsh sound.

"Good," she said softly. "You can report to me in a few days. And come over tonight."

Graham's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Right," he said.

* * *

Ives decided to take the hiking trail as Belle had suggested. It felt good to walk, the cold air in his lungs and the winding trail stretching out his legs. He had stopped off at the house to pick up a stout, sharp knife, a small hatchet and a ball of twine, which were now stuck through his belt or in his inside pocket, and a coil of thin rope, which he looped around his waist out of sight beneath his coat. No one passed him on the trail, and he presumed that it was more popular when it wasn't covered in snow. The snowfall was thinner in the woods, the ground somewhat sheltered by the evergreens that towered on all sides.

At times he ventured away from the main track until he found what he was looking for: a small, sheltered clearing on the lee of the hill out of sight of the trail, surrounded by tall pines and paper birches. He set to work, cutting kindling from the rotting corpse of a fallen tree, gathering the driest of the fallen branches and cutting others from the surrounding trees as he built up the makings of a fire. Having built the frame, he pared strips of of the papery bark from the birch trees to use as kindling, stuffing it into the crevices between the branches. Fire built and ready for the flames, he used the ball of twine and more of the thin branches to make a series of frames on which to hang the strips of meat he would cut. He had decided to keep the body in his freezer for steaks and stews. The next victim he would turn into cured, dried meat. One never knew when one would have to leave a place on short notice, and it always paid to have a portable supply of food. It was risky, of course, to do it out in the open like this, but he was confident that with the new snow storm that was due to blow in, he would be undisturbed. The smoke from the fire would help to cure the meat and intensify its flavour.

Having prepared the site and cut a notch in a tree next to the trail to remind himself how to get there, he made his way home. The walk had made him hungry, and he was pleased to get back to cook himself some more of the meat he had stored. He pondered the possible targets as he ate his lunch. There had been some other no-hopers at that dreadful bar. A couple looked to have pickled their livers already, but some of the younger ones looked as though they would be edible. He just had to pick the one that he thought most deserved to die. Smiling to himself, he took another mouthful of steak, feeling the wonderful fire and life that the flesh imbued him with. Feeling the strength, the virility. Perhaps he would pay Belle a visit that evening after all. Making her scream with pleasure would be a fitting end to what would hopefully turn out to be a productive day.

* * *

After he had finished lunch, and cleaned up in the kitchen, he went down to the basement, taking one of his larger knives from the roll of leather and slipping it into the inside pocket of his overcoat. Suitably equipped, he made his way back out and strolled to the Rabbit Hole. At that time of day there were few patrons, and he took a seat at the bar and nodded to the barman as a glass of beer was set in front of him. He kept an eye on the pool table, where a dark-haired man, friend to the one he had killed, was playing. The man was handsome, he supposed, but appeared to be missing a hand, the prosthetic he wore merely balancing the pool cue as he took a shot. Ives was impressed, despite himself. That would have to take practice. He was dressed in a similar fashion to the late and unlamented Keith Nott, all black jeans and a leather jacket with thick silver rings on his fingers and a growth of stubble on his cheeks and chin. Ives looked him over, weighing up how much meat was on his bones. Definitely the potential for a few weeks' worth of dried meat rations there.

"Hey, James." Ives watched as the man looked up. Another approached, an older, squatter man with a beard and something of a paunch, a red woollen hat on his head. He was dressed as though he had come from one of the fishing boats; he wore a dark waterproof coat over the top of a thick, cream-coloured turtleneck sweater, black pants and heavy boots.

"Swain, you old bugger! Good, you can get the next round." James drained his glass, banging it down on the table and grinning widely. "It was supposed to be Nott's turn to get the drinks in today, but surprise, surprise, he's a no-show."

"Don't talk to me about him!" said Swain, curling his lip. He picked up the glass. "Same again?"

"Cheers, mate. Let me rack 'em up for us." James put quarters in the pool table, the thud and rumble of balls breaking through the raucous, unintelligible sound from the jukebox. Ives watched from the corner of his eye as crumpled bills were pushed across the bar, and the barman handed up two glasses of beer, dripping with condensation. Swain carried them over, setting them on one of the small, sticky-topped tables.

"So, what's the delightful Mr Nott been up to to piss you off?" asked James carelessly, bending to take his shot. There was the crack of pool balls hitting one another, and the dull, hollow sound of one going down the pocket and into the bowels of the table.

"Asshole didn't show up for work two days in a row," grumbled Swain. "I went over to his place but couldn't get an answer."

"He's either drunk or he's managed to persuade some poor girl to sleep with him," said James, unconcerned. "He'll turn up tomorrow. Keith won't do without his beer money for too long."

Ives allowed himself a tiny smile, taking a drink.

"Yeah, well, if he doesn't, I have extra shifts going," said Swain. "Want to call it?"

"Oh, I can handle a few extra hours," agreed James. "I don't mind covering his early shift tomorrow, if you need a hand."

"I guess rent's due soon, huh?"

James grinned lasciviously. "Oh, I'm sure I could persuade the delicious Miss French to take it out of my arse."

Swain snorted in derision, and Ives felt a sudden, unexpected and surprisingly welcome surge of anger. Interesting.

"In your dreams!" hooted Swain. "I've never even seen her date. Probably one of those lesbians. Her and that Ruby."

"Well, there's my Sunday night fantasies sorted," said James, waggling his eyebrows, and they both burst into rough, goatish laughter.

Ives thought about taking the pool cue and impaling one of them on it, but he let himself calm down, taking another drink of beer.

"Keith's been chasing her for weeks, remember?" said Swain, taking his shot. Balls careened off cushions, and he swore as one bounced either side of the pocket without going down. "If he's not her type, you can bet your ass you won't be."

"The man has no subtlety and a tenth of my charm and good looks," said James with a grin. "You know how well I can find my way around the ladies, mate."

"I bet you five bucks she wouldn't even let you touch her."

"Ah, nothing a few shots of rum wouldn't fix," said James blithely. "Worked on that Kathryn whatever-her-name-was."

"A little _too_ well, right?" said Swain, amused, and James shrugged.

"You know what it's like, mate. The thrill of the chase. She made it too easy. Anyway, back to the lovely Miss French. Five bucks, you say? How about we make it interesting?"

"Okay, an extra five for each base you get to," suggested Swain. "Twenty bucks for a home run."

"Make it an extra five for every time I do it," said James, grinning widely. "Once she's had a taste, she'll want more, trust me."

Swain burst out laughing. "Right, I'm sure you're her type. Didn't you crash and burn with Mary Margaret Blanchard a few months back?"

James scowled. "She's a stuck up bitch. Besides, I think she has a thing for Dr Whale. What is it with women and doctors, anyway?"

"Good money?" shrugged Swain. "Reasonable hours when you're high up enough, the whole saving lives thing…"

"Yes, yes!" James rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands glinting in the dim lights. "Look, mate, I've seen Belle's type before. Pretends to be innocent, but really gets all hot between the legs for a bad boy."

Ives picked up his glass and took a long drink of his beer so that he wouldn't be tempted to leap across and grab the man by the throat. It wouldn't be conducive to evading suspicion if he started attacking people in public places. No matter how vile and disgusting their conversations were.

"I still say she won't touch you." Swain remained unconvinced, and James sighed.

"Tell you what, I'll film the whole thing, just to give you some proof."

"Okay, you're on." Swain chalked the end of his cue. "What's your plan?"

"Oh, I'll just turn up at her place tomorrow night," he said, unconcerned, and bent to take his shot. "Take her some flowers or something. The girl's a trusting fool, she's nice to everyone. She'll let me in. In every way you can think of."

The men bellowed with laughter again, and Ives could feel his rage rising, a red, swirling mist that seethed and burned. It appeared that, without really intending to, he had chosen his next victim.

* * *

He sat in the bar for some time, watching his prey sink several beers and get progressively worse at pool. He himself had drunk little, switching to whisky shots as the sun went down and curling his lip at the lascivious comments coming from the pool table about the women of Storybrooke. If James were to be believed, he had bedded almost all of them apart from Belle, the 'stuck-up' Mary Margaret, the 'lesbian' Ruby and the heavily pregnant Ashley. Ives suspected that some of the tales were exaggerated, but certainly not all of them. He couldn't deny the man was good-looking, and he boasted of using spirits to 'warm the girls up', so it was highly likely that he was successful in some of his pursuits. Ives turned his whisky glass around on the slightly sticky bar, watching the amber liquid inside catch the light. He metabolised alcohol quickly, a side-effect of his unconventional diet, and remained awake and alert as the two men by the pool table started slurring their words a little. At around nine in the evening, James decided he had had enough, despite the protests from his comrade.

"Early shift, mate," he explained. "We have to catch the four a.m. tide, remember? I'll see you in the morning."

Swain grunted, waving him away, and Ives watched as he fastened his leather jacket and pulled on gloves and a woollen hat.

"I won't forget about the bet," he added. "Get ready to pay up."

Swain rolled his eyes, and James grinned widely and sauntered out of the club. Ives waited until the barman was distracted by new customers, then slipped from his stool, pulling on his overcoat and moving silently behind chattering patrons and out of the door. He could see his quarry at the end of the road, walking along in the freezing air with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Ives reached inside his overcoat, the hilt of the large knife he was carrying cool against his hand. James rounded the corner, heading towards the docks, and Ives kept pace with him, his eyes flicking around to make sure they weren't being followed. He recognised where they were, and knew that James would have to turn between two warehouses if he was heading for the row of houses nearest the harbourside. He smiled as he followed the man down by the cannery, the scent of fish and salt and the sea breeze strong in the air around him.

"I understand you made a bet with your friend." Ives couldn't resist speaking, and James turned in surprise, allowing him to catch up, his pace even and unhurried.

"What?" asked James, his eyes a little glazed from the beer. "Oh right, you mean the bet with Swain. So?"

"So." Ives settled into a stance, feet hip-width apart. "Belle French is under my protection. I just wanted you to know that."

James looked momentarily uncomfortable, but raised his hands with a wide smile.

"Just having a laugh, mate! You know what the Rabbit Hole's like."

"I just wanted you to know that," repeated Ives, with a pleasant smile. "Before I kill you, cut out your liver, and turn you into trail food, do you understand?"

James scowled. "Alright, could we not over-react? I admit that I fancied my chances with the lass, but are you telling me you got there first? Good for you if you have. I guess you beat me to it."

"As if she were some sort of prize, yes?" Ives continued to smile at him, and James sighed.

"Look, no harm done," he said, in a soothing tone that only served to make Ives's hackles rise. "I'll back off, alright? There are plenty of women in this town, mate, and none of them worth getting violent over."

"Oh, I beg to differ." Ives drew out the knife, and James took a staggering step backwards, eyes widening as he threw up his hands, palms outward.

"Bloody hell! Okay, okay! Let's - let's turn it down a few notches, shall we?"

"Well, that's no fun!" said Ives easily. He turned the blade, letting it catch the moonlight as he looked down its length.

"You placed a value of twenty dollars on her, I believe," he said quietly, still smiling. "What part of your body do you think might be worth that?"

He looked the man over slowly, eyes sweeping down his torso to focus on his groin, and James took the opportunity to bolt. Ives grinned, giving him a moment or two before sprinting after him, and he caught up as James rounded the end of the cannery and skidded on the frozen ground of the delivery yard. Ives grasped his shoulder, spinning him around and putting a hand around his throat. He lifted him off the ground with ease, flinging him backwards to fly into the roller shutter door of the cannery with a dull, hollow boom. James slipped to the ground, winded, and Ives dragged him to his feet again, ignoring the punches landing on his sides. He pushed him back against the door and put the knife to his throat, and James stilled at once, his eyes wide with terror, his chest heaving.

"What the _hell_ are you?" he whispered, and Ives smiled.

"Hungry," he breathed, and drove the knife in, severing blood vessels and cutting through cartilage and bone until it punched through the spinal cord. The man stopped struggling, his limbs hanging limp and useless, and Ives pulled the knife free and put his mouth to the wound he had made, drinking down the blood that poured forth. He could feel the life fleeing, the heart that beat in the chest he was pressed up against slowing and finally stopping, and the flow of blood slowed with it, leaving him wanting more, wanting to slice into the flesh and cut some free, wanting the strength and the sense of invincibility that came from eating it. His lips hovered over the wound, tongue flickering out to catch the last of the seeping blood, his breathing hard and heavy with excitement.

He wiped the knife clean on James's shirt, stowing it in his pocket and looking around. The cannery yard was as silent and empty as it had been when they arrived there, and he picked up the body in his arms, James's head lolling against his shoulder. It was possible that some blood would leak out, would drip onto the roads as he passed, but he could sense the snow in the air, the weather closing in. In all likelihood there would be no record of his presence there by morning. He hefted the body in his arms into a more comfortable position, and made his way through the docks and the back streets of Storybrooke until he found the trail.

He met no one on the way, for which he was thankful, as he really didn't want to have to kill anyone else just yet. The going was a little slower as he headed out onto the trail, due to the darkness and the uneven ground, but he reached the clearing before the moon was fully up, dropping the body on the ground by the pile of firewood. His heart was pounding, the strength and the fire flowing through his veins from his victim's blood, and another hunger was rising in him. Images of Belle had been fluttering through his mind ever since he had drunk the blood, and he let himself indulge in them now, thinking of how she kissed, how she tasted, the softness of her skin and how she felt beneath him.

He looped the coil of rope he had left there over a thick branch, testing its load-bearing capability before tying one end around the corpse's feet and hauling him into the air. Blood began to run from the neck wound in a thin, dark stream, and he tied off the rope, leaving the body hanging. Despite his growing, all-consuming lust for the woman back in Storybrooke, he knew he should light the fire and prepare the body. Thinly slicing the meat for jerky would take time, after all. He would be awake the best part of the night just doing that part. He cut away the clothes from the man's torso, throwing the pieces onto the pile of wood he had stacked for the fire. There was blood on it, a strong, enticing, iron-rich scent, but he ignored it, taking out a lighter and setting fire to some of the thin, curled pieces of dry birch bark. Flames licked over it, orange and sienna with a dark heart of deep umber, and he pushed the burning pieces further beneath the stacked twigs and dead wood that made up the rest of the kindling. The fire began to take hold, flames teasing the larger twigs and branches despite the freezing air. The light played across his features, sending his eyes into shadow as he fed the scraps of clothing to the flames, and he nodded in satisfaction, turning his attention back to the body.

The skin was pale, the chest, stomach and arms covered with dark, curling hair, and he used the blade of his knife to shave most of it away from the belly before cutting into the right side and taking out a slice of liver. The meat glistened in the light of the fire, dark and rich and slippery with blood, and his mouth watered. He swallowed the meat down, chewing on it, the flavour exploding across his tongue, and he sucked the blood from his fingers, licking up every drop. He could already feel the power from it, feel it coursing through him and healing the bruises where James had punched him in his bid to escape. Blood was draining out of the corpse and pooling on the ground, a dark stain spreading outwards, and he thought of Belle's blood, and how incredible it had tasted. How she had felt like silk around him, and the sounds she had made when she came. A distraction, of course, a delicious distraction from what he had to do, but the thoughts would not leave him, and he was already hard. He scrubbed his hands clean in the snow, picking up handfuls of it to clean any blood from his face, invigorated by the chill on his skin. He put on gloves and cleaned the knife, scrubbing the blood from it and then thrusting it into the frozen ground between the roots of the tree. Straightening up, he headed back to town as the snow started to fall.

He walked swiftly, his hands in his pockets, reaching the centre of Storybrooke a little after ten-thirty. Several people were just leaving Granny's, bundled up against the snow. They hurried past him, talking and laughing and complaining about the weather, and he crossed the street to where Belle kept her apartment. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the buzzer, and waited until the intercom clicked and Belle's voice floated out into the cold air.

"Hello?"

"Belle?" said Ives. "It's me. I'm sorry, I know it's late…"

"Oh! No, it's fine. Come on up."

The buzzer went, a harsh, urgent sound, and he pushed open the door as Belle appeared at the top of the stairs, smiling down at him.

"How was your walk?" she asked. "Did you find the trail?"

"I did, it was most - enjoyable." He tugged off his gloves and followed her into the apartment, finding it warm and comfortable, with mismatched old furniture and candles burning in tall glass holders. Belle gestured to the couch, but he didn't want to sit. His body was humming with energy and adrenaline and desire, and her scent was in the air, a sweet perfume over what he recognised as the smell of _her_ , of life and light, drawing him in. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her and taste her. To take off her clothes and have all that pale, perfect skin bared to his sight once more.

"Did you - want a drink?" she asked.

He turned to look at her, her cheeks a little flushed and tendrils of hair curling around her neck. Her eyes were wide and dark in the light of the candles, her lower lip plump and moist where she had bitten it. He sensed a change in her, in _them_ , electricity crackling in the air between them. She had picked up on his need, his desire for her, his desperate hunger. He could hear it in her voice, in the way it shook slightly and her breathing quickened. He could see it in the way her chest heaved and her pupils widened and the way her fingers nervously plucked at her skirt.

"No," he said quietly. "I don't want a drink, Belle. I want to take you to bed."

"Oh, good!" she said quickly, with a tiny smile, and he closed the gap between them with two strides, cupping her face with his hands and bending his head to kiss her. She clung to him, opening her mouth to let him taste her, her hands sliding up his back over his overcoat, and he could feel her pressing against him. He shrugged off his coat, letting it drop to the floor as they kissed, and his waistcoat followed. Her hands started plucking at the buttons of his shirt, nimble fingers opening it up and sliding in over his warm skin, and he let his hands slip down her back to cup her rear, squeezing gently.

Belle pulled her mouth away, breathless and aroused, wanting him. He was staring at her, panting a little, his gaze hot and hungry, and she swallowed, taking his hand in hers.

"Come on," she said softly, and pulled him towards the bedroom.

She tried to assess what it was about him that made her want him so. It clearly wasn't the fact that she hadn't had sex in a while, because he had well and truly brought a thunderstorm to rain all over _that_ dry spell. It may of course be that his residence in the town wasn't permanent, and she wanted to make the most of it, but she didn't think so. She _wanted_ him. More than that, she trusted him. There was something oddly familiar about him, something in his smile and the glint in his eyes and the way he moved. It was almost as though she _knew_ him. She watched him undress, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and unfastening the belt of his pants, and she kicked off the little ballet pumps she was wearing. The feel of his hands on her shoulders made her look up, and he slowly pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. He smiled, looking her over, and gently turned her around. Belle shuddered in pleasure as he unzipped her dress, his fingers cool against the skin of her back, and she stepped out of it, draping it over the back of a chair and sitting on the edge of the bed to take off her tights. She felt the mattress sink as he knelt behind her, and then he was kissing her neck, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin below her ear and making her moan with pleasure. His hands gently cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking over her nipples, and his teeth tugged at her earlobe.

"Protection?" he whispered, and she nodded.

"I put them in the nightstand," she said, and he kissed across the back of her neck as he unhooked her bra. She let it fall, leaning back against him so that he could pull her close and fall backward on the bed. He rolled them so that she was underneath, kissing his way down her chest to tease her nipple with his tongue, and she sighed contentedly, running her hands through his hair.

"I want you, Belle," he growled, and sucked the nipple in between his lips, making her arch her back.

"I want you too!" she breathed. "Condom."

He sucked a little harder, making her moan, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over her hips. She gasped, wanting him to touch her, and moaned a little as one hand slowly moved up her thigh, cupping her mound and sending her his heat. He pushed himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her as his fingers flickered over the tender flesh between her legs, and she moaned again.

"So beautiful," he whispered. "You are so, so beautiful."

He let two fingers slide into her, slow and gentle, their passage eased by her arousal, and she pushed against him, grinding herself against his hand. He felt good, but it was not enough, would never be enough. She wanted him deep inside her, hard and hot and aching for her, and she moaned as his thumb grazed her clit.

"Please!" she gasped. "I need you! Need you inside me!"

He straightened up, gently withdrawing his fingers and tugging her panties down her legs and off at her feet. She watched him suck his fingers, his eyes still on her, and she swallowed, rolling to the side to fish one of the condoms out of the drawer.

"Lie down," she said, and felt the mattress sink a little as he lay next to her, his head on the pillows. She let her hand trail down his chest, over the flat plane of his stomach and the dark hair between his legs. He was hard, the end of his cock already glistening where a little fluid had leaked out, and she wrapped a hand around him, her thumb skating over the tip and rubbing him in a circle. He groaned in pleasure, his head rolling back, and she quickly ripped open the little plastic packet, carefully rolling the condom onto him before straddling him. Ives raised his head, staring at her as she took him in hand and guided him inside, her other hand braced on his belly. She sank down onto him with a sigh, and he groaned again, arching his back, his hands sliding up her thighs to grasp her hips. She let out a low, contented moan as he filled her, feeling him slide all the way inside her.

"That's good!" she whispered, and began to rock slowly back and forth, letting him slip out almost all the way before sliding back down on him. Her hands stroked over his belly and up to his chest, her thumbs gently kneading his nipples in a circle, and he dug his fingers into her hips, pulling her tighter against him, increasing the friction. Belle could feel the sensations building within her, and rolled her hips a little, grinding against him as she moved, his hands sliding up her body to squeeze her breasts. He pinched the nipples between fingers and thumbs, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, and she moaned, letting her head loll backwards. Her own fingers found his nipples, hard and taut from his arousal, and she pinched them hard, making him groan and push up into her.

"Oh, Belle!" he whispered. "Keep going, sweetheart. You feel so, so good. So delicious."

She bent forwards a little, and he surged upwards to meet her, kissing her fiercely as she increased her pace. Sweat was beading on her face and forehead, and she could feel her climax building, her hips bucking as she rocked against him. She moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss and pulling back to brace herself with both hands. He felt so _good_ inside her, so right, as though he was meant to be there, as though she had always been waiting for him. There was heat where their bodies were joined, heat and wetness and the feel of his hair against her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling his touch on her breasts, on her hips, the way his fingers gripped her and held her. She concentrated on the feel of his cock moving in and out of her, how hard and thick and hot he was, and she pumped her hips, building the friction and the tension and the sweet, sweet joy. Her moans increased in volume as she worked, feeling every muscle in her body tighten and tingle before she went over the edge with a cry of pleasure, starbursts in her vision and the wonderful feeling of release. He groaned along with her, thrusting into her as she pulled at him, and she slowed her pace, falling forwards a little onto her hands as she tried to catch her breath.

"Belle, Belle, my sweet little Belle," he whispered softly, and she felt his touch on her face, a light caress, his fingertips wet with her perspiration. Her eyelids fluttered and she stared down at him sleepily, her body still tingling, warm and heavy from her orgasm. He gently brushed a curl of hair back from where it had stuck to her cheek and lifted himself up to kiss her again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body loose, and he slowly rolled until she was underneath, her legs wrapped around his hips. He kissed her, the taste of salt on his lips and the smell of musk and that fresh, woody scent of his cologne drifting into her nose. His mouth was wet and sweet, his tongue licking across the moist wall of her lower lip as they kissed, and she felt the brush of his beard against her chin, his breath hot with a faint, metallic tang. He was still hard within her, still pushed up inside her, and she settled back into the pillows with a sigh.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

His voice was quiet, his eyes very dark, fixed on hers, his naked skin warm in the light of the lamp, and she bit her lower lip, gazing up at him as she nodded. She reached up to touch his cheek, her thumb stroking over his skin and sinking into his hair as it fell around her fingers. She opened her mouth to speak, but her breath seemed to catch, and she simply nodded fiercely. He bent to kiss her again, and she opened her mouth for him, moaning as he began to move, to thrust, to pump his hips against her, going deeper, harder, faster. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her legs and tugging them higher, and his chest was pressed against hers, slick with sweat and heavy with his scent. She dragged her fingers through his hair and down his shoulders, sensations rising within her once more, and she could feel him tensing, quickening. She pumped against him, matching his pace, and he let go with a long, low groan, pulsing into her. The feel of it took her with him, a sharp cry bursting from her throat as she came, and she clung to him as their bodies moved, as they slowed, the only sound their rough, heavy breathing.

Ives pushed himself up on his elbows, gazing down at her with dark eyes filled with lust and contentment. His lips quirked into a tiny smile, the warmth of affection in his eyes, and she felt the first sting of tears, a sudden rush of emotions making her breath catch in her throat as she tried to speak. He touched her face almost reverently, the beads of the rosary cool against her cheek and forehead, and it felt like absolution. Like a blessing.

"I - I feel..." she faltered. "I feel as though I've been looking for you. Looking for you and never finding you." She swallowed, blinking at him a little nervously. "Does that - does that make sense to you?"

Ives smiled down at her, his fingers gently stroking along the soft line of her jaw.

"Yes," he breathed. "That makes perfect sense, Belle."

* * *

 **A/N: Someone got a little more than they bargained for here, I think.**

 **Next time: Ives suffers a setback, and some serious questions are raised.**


	5. Calm Before The Storm

**A/N: I've fallen behind with all my writing recently, and this is no exception. Anyway, last time Ives killed and ate a piece of a certain someone, before deciding he'd much rather have sex with Belle. So he went and had sex with Belle. Here's what happened next.**

* * *

Belle made them tea, padding through to the kitchen wrapped in the soft white folds of a bathrobe, and they sat in bed to drink it. Ives was anxious to leave and get back to the body he had left hanging from a tree, but it seemed ill-mannered to fuck her and run, so he drank the hot tea, Belle curled up by his side. He was surprised that he wasn't hungrier; if anything he was feeling a little sick, and he couldn't understand why.

"Storm's coming in again," Belle observed, nodding towards the window where the falling snow had thickened, pattering against the glass and settling on the ledge. "It's not usually like this so early in the winter. I'm sorry, you won't see much of the woods for a few days."

"That's alright, the house has a large collection of books."

He smiled at her, and she beamed, cradling her mug in both hands. He shivered a little, his stomach twisting with a sudden, sharp pain, and Belle looked concerned as he grimaced.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and he sucked in his cheeks as another cramp stabbed at him. He set his mug on the nightstand, wincing.

"Yes, I'm…" He shook his head, pushing back the covers and running naked to Belle's bathroom, where he threw up violently. Blood spattered the toilet bowl, dark and ominous, and he retched as his stomach heaved again. Eventually it seemed that he had thrown up everything he could, although painful cramps continued to wrack him. He collapsed next to the toilet, resting his head against the cold porcelain and rubbing a hand over his abdomen. He was shaking, gasping for breath, and Belle's tentative knock at the door barely roused him.

"Francis? Are you okay?"

She sounded worried, and he pushed himself to his feet on legs that shook. Bracing himself against the wall, he flushed away the evidence of his sickness and washed his hands, rinsing out his mouth with water. He was shivering, and from the expression on Belle's face when he opened the bathroom door, he imagined he looked every bit as bad as he felt.

"You're sick," she said, concerned, and he shook his head.

"Something I ate," he muttered, still rubbing his stomach.

"Here, get back into bed, you look terrible."

"No, no, I'll be fine…" He didn't feel it, though, and Belle was not fooled. She gave him a small push, and he fell into the bed with a sigh. It felt good to lie down, and the pillow was cool against his face. Belle pressed an arm to his forehead, sucking in air as she did so.

"You're burning up," she said anxiously. "You have a fever."

"I'll be fine," he repeated, and he meant it. He _would_ be fine eventually. Clearly the man he had killed had some sort of disease, and his body was reacting to it. He had had a similar experience once before, when he had been unlucky enough to eat someone with syphilis. His constitution meant that he did not suffer from diseases as regular humans did, and the fever would burn the sickness out of him, but he was aware that he was in for an uncomfortable few days. He hoped the snowstorm was a big one; there seemed little chance of him getting out to the body any time soon. He had no intention of eating any more of it, of course, but he couldn't leave it hanging from a tree, either. He shivered violently, and Belle shook her head.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. "You want me to call a doctor?"

"No." He flicked his eyes over at her. "Is it alright if I stay?"

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," she said firmly, and threw off her robe, climbing into bed beside him and wrapping her arm around his waist. He was shivering, his teeth rattling, and Belle pressed herself against him, stroking his hair back from his forehead with a cool hand.

"Try to sleep," she whispered. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

* * *

He did not feel better in the morning, but instead spent three days in the grip of a raging fever, by turns shivering and burning up. He had also thrown up more times than he cared to count, and Belle had been making him drink water with salt and sugar to replace lost electrolytes. He really wanted some blood, or human flesh that wasn't diseased, but at the same time he didn't feel like eating anything. Whatever had been wrong with the man he had started to eat, it was certainly doing a number on his system, and he was thankful that he hadn't eaten any more of him. Belle had been a soothing presence, bringing him drinks and curling up beside him, and he had apologised profusely for the inconvenience he was causing her, to which she had replied that the storm meant that most of the town was staying indoors anyway.

On the morning of the third day he woke from a restless sleep to find that the fever had left him. He felt weak from lack of food, to be sure, but the virus, whatever it had been, was gone, and he would be able to replenish his energy levels just as soon as he could get home. He turned his head to see a dark mass of curls by his shoulder, and smiled briefly. She had been wonderful, and once he was feeling one hundred percent he intended to show her exactly how grateful he was. In the meantime, however, he supposed that he ought to get dressed and make his way out to the woods to dispose of the body. He slid an arm around her waist, wriggling a little way down in the bed so that he could see her face, and her eyes opened sleepily. She smiled.

"Hey," she said, and yawned. "You look better."

"I feel much better," he confirmed. "I'll get back to my own house and let you have some peace. I'm so sorry for the trouble I've caused you, Belle."

"You were sick!" she protested. "It's not your fault, and I was happy to look after you."

"Nonetheless," he said quietly. "I'm grateful. I'll have to make it up to you."

"Oh yeah?" Belle's grin widened. "Any ideas?"

He pursed his lips. "One or two," he admitted, and she giggled.

He kissed her, hugging her close as she relaxed into him, his hand stroking over her hip, and she made a little sound of contentment as he pulled back.

"I'll see you tomorrow, if you're free," he said. "Dinner, perhaps?"

"I'd like that."

She watched as he threw back the covers and looked around for his clothes, which she had folded carefully and placed on the chair. He dressed quickly, feeling her eyes on him, and sat on the edge of the bed to kiss her before he left. He really wanted to shave, but he could take care of that back at the house. She was warm and soft in his arms, the wonderful scent of her in his nose as he breathed her in, and he was smiling as he pulled back.

"How about breakfast before I leave?" he asked softly, and she grinned at him.

"Coffee and bagels from Granny's sounds good," she said, and he nodded, pulling on his coat.

* * *

The sidewalk outside was snow-covered, as Belle had said, but vehicles were moving slowly along the frozen streets, pushing snow to the sides to pile in the gutters. He walked swiftly to Granny's, his chin pushed down into the upturned collar of his coat, and was enveloped by the warm air as he entered the diner. There were few customers, and Ruby smiled at him as she handed the coffees and bagels over the counter.

"Haven't seen you for a few days," she said, and put her head to the side. "Are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I was sick," he explained. "I'm afraid Belle had to take care of me. Hence my bringing her breakfast."

Ruby's eyes widened. "Oh, then you haven't heard? I tried calling Belle earlier this morning, but I guess you guys were still sleeping. You'll never believe what's happened!"

Ives felt a cold finger trail down his spine at her words.

"What is it?" he asked, more calmly than he felt, and Ruby shook her head.

"Someone was _murdered_!" she said in a whisper. "Hung up in the woods with his throat cut. Archie Hopper found him. The poor guy was as white as a sheet when he came in here afterwards. I gave him a brandy and he drank it straight down."

Mentally cursing himself for not dealing with the body and instead thinking with his cock, Ives managed to keep his face smooth.

"Does anyone know what happened?" he asked, and Ruby shook her head.

"No, but there's a _ton_ of speculation," she said, flicking her hair back. "The guy's name is - _was_ \- James Newport. Good-looking, but a total creep." She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Crap, I probably shouldn't have said that! Don't speak ill of the dead, right?"

She looked guilty, and he smiled at her, hoping to ease her mind.

"I doubt the late Mr Newport particularly cares what you think of him," he said, and she sighed, letting her hands drop back onto the counter.

"I guess," she said, a little uncomfortably. "Anyway, I didn't know him all that well. He hung out with Keith Nott, another total creep who just happens to have gone missing. They sometimes had trouble taking no for an answer, so people are thinking it's a brother or father getting even."

"I see." Ives held up the coffees. "Well, I'll inform Belle. No doubt she'll have her own theories."

"Uh-huh." Ruby nodded. "The sheriff's interviewing anyone with a possible motive, but we haven't heard of anyone being arrested yet."

Ives felt a blast of cold air behind him as the door opened, and Ruby flicked a glance over his shoulder.

"Hey, Graham," she said. "Any news?"

Ives turned to see the sheriff shake his head, his eyes troubled. He looked at Ives, hands resting on the thick leather belt he wore.

"Mr Ives, isn't it?" he said. "Do you mind if I have a word at the station?"

"Colonel Ives," corrected Ives. "Is this about the murder? Miss Lucas was just telling me a body was found, but I don't see what that has to do with me."

"It's just routine," explained Graham. "I'm questioning a lot of people. Someone must have seen something, so I'd be obliged if you'd agree to some questions. Just so we can rule you out, of course."

"Of course," said Ives dryly. He eyed Graham for a moment, then shrugged. "Might I join you in a few minutes, Sheriff? I was taking Belle some breakfast."

"I'll take it up to her," said Ruby quickly. "She'll want to know what's happened."

Ives nodded, handing over the coffee and bagels he had bought for Belle and bidding Ruby good day as he left with Graham. He was silent as they made their way to the sheriff's station, thinking over his movements prior to the murder, and whether there was anything at the site that would point to him. He didn't think so, but perhaps Graham would surprise him. He didn't like surprises.

* * *

Once at the station, Graham showed him into a small interview room. There was a tape recorder on the table, and a notepad and pen. Ives slid into a seat opposite Graham and placed his coffee on the table, sitting back in the chair.

"Should I be asking for a lawyer?" he said mildly, and Graham looked up as he picked up his pen.

"This isn't a formal interview," he explained. "I'll be taking notes, but it's really to get an idea of everyone's movements around the time of the murder."

"Which was?" asked Ives, and Graham hesitated.

"What with the storm, the body was frozen," he said. "We think any time in the past three days. He was last seen in the Rabbit Hole on Sunday night. Dr Hopper found the body early this morning, or rather his dog did."

"Miss Lucas informs me that another man is missing," said Ives. "Shouldn't you be looking for him? Perhaps he's to blame."

"Keith Nott?" Graham shook his head. "I'd certainly like to speak to him, but the last time he was seen was a day or two before Newport's murder."

"Well, I didn't know either man," said Ives blandly. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, Sheriff."

"You can tell me where you were between Sunday night and this morning," said Graham, and Ives stretched, rolling his head from left to right as he did so.

"I've been sick," he said. "I spent the past three days in bed. A fever, or possibly stomach flu. Most unpleasant, I assure you."

"Did you leave the house at all?" asked Graham, scribbling.

"No, I spent my time throwing up and shivering," said Ives dryly. "I doubt I would have been able to punch the man, much less hang him from a tree."

"Anyone that can confirm this?" asked Graham, and Ives frowned.

"Yes, as it happens," he said stiffly. "But I prefer not to discuss my private business."

"Not even when it might give you an alibi?" said Graham mildly. Ives gazed at him steadily, and Graham shrugged and looked away.

"Okay, perhaps we'll come back to that," he said. "What dealings have you had with the dead man?"

"I never even spoke to him," said Ives, in a bored voice. "What does he look like?"

Graham reached into the file in front of him, pulling out a photograph and pushing it across the table. It was a mugshot, the face of James Newport staring out sullenly, a large bruise blacking his left eye. Ives smirked a little.

"I see he was a fine upstanding member of this community," he said dryly. "I'm guessing that this is the first of many times you had to take him in, Sheriff, am I correct?"

"I'm not here to discuss his police record," said Graham, an edge in his voice. "I'm here to investigate his murder."

"Forgive my flippant tone," said Ives, with mock contrition. "A life in the military; well, it hardens you to the suffering of others. You understand, I'm sure."

Graham sat back, tapping his pen against his notepad, and Ives took a drink of coffee, watching him. He wished that he wasn't so hungry. The sheriff was tall and lean, and seemed to take better care of himself than the other two he had killed. He would make a better meal than Newport, but killing him in the sheriff's station would certainly raise questions. He pulled his eyes away from the throbbing pulse in Graham's neck, and saw that the sheriff had a tiny frown on his face, as though he knew he was in danger. As though he could smell it.

"I have information that puts you in the Rabbit Hole on Sunday night," said Graham, and Ives drank more coffee to give himself time to think. He set the cup down deliberately, looking up at Graham.

"It's the only bar in town, I believe," he said quietly. "I had a few beers there early on Sunday evening."

"The evening when the victim was last seen," nodded Graham, and Ives smiled thinly.

"Indeed. As i recall there were many people in and out of that bar. Are you going to interview all of them, or is the usual small-town distrust of strangers affecting your objectivity?"

Graham's mouth twitched a little at that, and Ives made a mental note. So he _was_ being targeted because he was a new arrival. Well, he supposed he couldn't blame them for that, given that he actually had killed the man.

"You came to town right before the disappearance of Keith Nott, and the death of James Newport," said Graham, and Ives shrugged.

"Well, I can't deny that," he said easily. "However, I presume that if you had something to actually link me with either of those events, you and I would be having a very different conversation, am I right, Sheriff?"

Graham's eyes narrowed.

"You say that you're a Colonel," he said, his voice clipped. "Where did you serve?"

"My last posting was in Canada," said Ives. "48th Highlanders. You can check my records. I was last on a training mission for new recruits up in the Northwest Territories. A little place called Fort Spencer."

"I'll be doing that." Graham made a note. "What about family?"

"Don't have any."

"What were you doing before you were in Canada?" asked Graham, and Ives sucked air through his teeth.

"Well, that's where we're going to hit a problem," he said quietly. "You see, Sheriff, I suffered a very bad accident while in Canada. A bear attacked myself and the two men I was with. It charged us, knocked all three of us to the ground. It mauled them to death right on top of me." He shook his head, swallowing hard. "I can still hear their screams," he said softly. "Private Reich tried to fight it, and stabbed it a couple of times with his knife. He was a brave man, but no match for a full-grown grizzly."

Graham raised an eyebrow, gesturing at him to continue, and Ives nodded.

"I managed to live, by pretending to be dead," he added. "I lay beneath the bodies of the others, their blood running over my face and into my mouth. Eventually the bear wandered away."

"And then what?" asked Graham, and Ives sighed, turning the coffee cup around and around, the cardboard squeaking faintly against the melamine table top.

"I don't know," he said simply. "I passed out not long after the bear left. The next thing I knew I was waking up in hospital. They said I was lucky to still have all my limbs."

"Which hospital?"

"Yellowknife. By all means check their records, I have nothing to hide."

"Oh, I will, don't you worry."

Graham was scribbling on his pad.

"Okay, so let's go back a little," he said. "You said that you were stationed in Fort Spencer."

"No I didn't." Ives took a sip of coffee.

"Yes, you did. You said that you served in Canada, in Fort Spencer."

"I said I was on a training mission in Fort Spencer," corrected Ives. "I didn't say I was stationed there."

"So, where were you stationed?"

Ives smiled. "I have no idea."

Graham sighed. "Mr Ives…"

"Colonel."

" _Colonel_ Ives, you're not helping yourself here."

"I'm not trying to be obstructive, Sheriff," said Ives pleasantly, spreading his hands. "I simply don't remember. "I don't actually remember much of _anything_ before the bear attack. Please, check with the hospital, they'll confirm it. I was treated there for some time."

"When was this?" Graham looked up at him, and Ives shrugged.

"Oh, a few years ago now, I'm afraid I can't be any more specific than that."

"Really?" Graham's voice was dry. "A near-death experience, and you don't even remember what year it was?"

Ives sat back in his chair, threading his fingers together as he fixed Graham with a penetrating gaze.

"Time is a funny thing," he remarked. "You think you have a grip on it, and before you know it, it's slipped away from you. Tell me, Sheriff, don't you ever find yourself wondering how long it is you've been here? How long you've known the residents of this quaint little town?"

Graham hesitated, looking uncertain, and Ives waved a hand.

"Forget it, life gets complicated and things get forgotten," he said. "I understand that more than most. Please, check with the hospital. They'll have far better records than my poor brain, I'm sure."

"I will." Graham finished writing and looked up. "Very well, Colonel Ives, you're free to go. Thank you for your time."

"It was my pleasure, truly." Ives inclined his head slightly, and pushed himself up from the chair. Graham led him out, and Ives was greeted in the main office by the welcome sight of Belle, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

"Ruby told me what happened!" she said breathlessly. "Graham, I really hope you find whoever did this, but it certainly wasn't Francis. He's been sick in bed the past three days, and I've been looking after him."

"Yes, I presumed as much," said Graham dryly, and shot Ives a look. "Perhaps if he'd told me that, we could have been done here more quickly."

"My personal life is my own, and I had no desire to let there be any gossip about Miss French," said Ives, frowning. Graham sighed as Belle beamed at him.

"Fine," he said. "Why don't you two go off and take your personal business elsewhere? I still have a murderer to catch."

"Then we wish you the best of luck," said Ives smoothly, and offered his arm to Belle.

Graham watched them go, drumming his fingers on his hip. The man was strange, and a little intimidating, to be sure, but he was right. He had nothing. Sighing to himself, he drew on his jacket and made his way to the Town Hall to report to the Mayor. Regina listened with a frown as he told her the outcome of the interview.

"So you found nothing of value?" Regina's voice was flat, dark eyes flashing, and Graham winced a little.

"I have some enquiries to make," he said. "But I have nothing to tie him to either of the incidents, other than that he's a stranger in this town. Which isn't a crime."

"I know that!" she snapped, and sighed, putting hands on hips. "I just don't like to think of it being one of _our_ people, that's all. There's something about that man I don't trust."

"I'm going to need a little more than that," said Graham gently, and she rolled her eyes.

"Alright, fine! We'll do it your way, for now. Make your enquiries. If he skips town - well, perhaps it would be for the best."

"There's certainly an air about him," admitted Graham. "But he doesn't strike me as a cold-blooded killer, military man or not. Besides, he has an alibi. Belle French."

Regina frowned. "Really?"

"He's been at her house for the past three days, Belle says," confirmed Graham. "She nursed him through a bad fever."

"Ugh!" Regina's lip curled. "So he's screwing the librarian? That was fast work."

"Again, not a crime," said Graham dryly, and she glared at him. He sighed, spreading his hands. "Look, Regina, I can see that you don't like the man, but he hasn't done anything wrong that I can prove, and Belle is a good judge of character."

"Is _that_ what you think?" said Regina with a sneer. "That girl has the _worst_ taste in men, believe me."

"How would you know?" asked Graham, puzzled. "I haven't seen her date anyone since her ex left town."

Regina waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind. Just find whoever did this."

"I'm trying," he said more gently. "But unless I have some actual evidence, I can't do anything."

* * *

Ives walked Belle back to her apartment, kissing her briefly before making his way back to his house. Once inside he almost ran to the refrigerator, snatched up a plastic tub with the last few cubes of cold, cooked meat he had prepared before he last left the house, and began stuffing them into his mouth. He moaned in satisfaction as he felt the power flowing into him once more, and took out one of the large steaks he had cut, dropping it onto a board while he was still chewing and getting out the frying pan. Twenty minutes later he was pushing away his empty plate, his strength starting to return. A knock at the door made him look around, and he wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed back his chair, walking to the door and pulling it open.

"Good morning."

Two young women, both dark-haired and pretty, smiled at him from the porch, and his eyes flicked over them, taking in their matching outfits. So. Nuns.

"I understand that you're new in town," said the elder of the two. "We get so few visitors in Storybrooke, I can't remember the last time someone came here."

She was smiling at him, and her face was open and pleasant, but Ives felt a sudden, irrational surge of dislike for the woman. He tried not to let it show on his face, unsure where the feeling had come from.

"Well, I haven't been here long," he managed. "How may I help you ladies?"

"Oh! We're selling candles!" explained the younger nun excitedly, and held up a cardboard box containing around a dozen thick church candles. "We make them at the convent, it's kind of a fundraiser. We need a new boiler, you see, because the old one broke, and then the pipes froze and burst and flooded the kitchens, and now we have no heating and you would _not believe_ how cold it gets, especially when we're praying, and…"

"Sister Astrid," interrupted the other, and the nun cut off, looking abashed. Her companion smiled again, and the look in her eye made Ives's flesh creep.

"I'm Mother Superior," she said. "All the candles are made by the nuns, as Sister Astrid explained. "Would you be interested in buying one?"

Ives clenched his fists by his sides, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Trying not to follow his instincts and seize her by the throat. What the hell was the _matter_ with him?

"I'll take the whole box," he heard himself say, and barely heard Sister Astrid's squeal of excitement. He managed to get through the next minute or so of digging money out of his pocket and exchanging it for the box of candles, and bid the two nuns good day. Closing the door in relief, he leant his forehead against the cool glass and tried to let his heart stop thumping. Tried to grasp the brief, tattered vision that had flashed through his mind, the memory of green, swirling light and the feeling of abject terror. Heaving a deep breath, he wiped the dampness of perspiration from his face, and walked back to the kitchen on legs that shook, his body coursing with adrenaline, fear and rage. Perhaps he had not yet recovered. Perhaps another meal was required. Walking back into the kitchen, he set the box of candles on the table and went to the refrigerator, taking out another thick steak and busying himself with seasoning. The desire to kill was something he was used to, but he had never had such an immediate response to anyone in all his long life. He couldn't understand why the Mother Superior should cause such dark thoughts.

* * *

 **A/N: Uh-oh**

 **Next time: More questions are asked, concerns are raised, and there will undoubtedly be some smut.**


	6. Maelstrom

_Always cold._

 _It was always cold, no matter the weather on the surface. Cold and damp, the moisture dripping from the stones and coating the walls in slime. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out that that was what they fed him, the tasteless slop riddled with vermin that they wouldn't feed to the pigs. It was an unhealthy place, the home of things not meant to see the sun. Like him. They saw him as less than human, of course, less than an animal. Nothing to occupy his mind with other than to plot and plan and wait. And yet, he was content. He was exactly where he wanted to be. He had schemed and maneuvered for so long now, and his time of escape - of victory - was close. So close he could almost taste it._

 _The squeak and rattle of the distant door made him sit up, ears pricked, and slowly, uncoiling his body like a serpent, he got to his feet, brushing the dirt from himself. Appearances were everything, even for one caged, for one bound and powerless. His nostrils burned and flared at the oddly familiar smell in the air as footsteps approached, and he lifted his upper lip in a snarl, baring his teeth._

"You!" _he breathed, his eyes flashing with rage, and hurled himself at the bars._

Ives woke with a jerk, his heart pounding and bloodlust raging through him. Hands shaking a little, he ran them over his face, clearing the last of the sleep from his eyes. He had slept badly, plagued by strange dreams, and had padded downstairs in the middle of the night to eat more of the meat in his fridge. He was hungry again, and the first light of dawn was already greying the sky, so he threw off the covers and walked naked to the shower. Twenty minutes later he was frying steak in the kitchen, and after he had eaten breakfast he felt much better.

He washed the dishes, wiping over the kitchen surfaces as he thought about his plans for the day. Dinner with Belle awaited that evening, of course, but perhaps he could spend the day seeing a little more of the town. It was always useful to figure out who a future meal might be, after all. Who would be missed the least, or not at all. He enjoyed this part of the hunt: selecting his prey, watching their movements, familiarising himself with their routine. He washed and shaved, pulling on his heavy coat as protection against the bitter cold, and went out into the harsh daylight, the winter sun sparkling off the frozen ground.

The walk into town was brisk and pleasant, the slight breeze sharp on his exposed skin, and he smoked one of his thin cigars as he walked, blue-tinged smoke curling around his head in thin streams, grasped and tugged by the wind. A few of the residents strolled by, most of whom nodded to him, and he passed the Mayor as he mounted the steps to Granny's Diner. She frowned at him, dark brows flattening over her eyes, he full mouth twisting, and he smiled in response. He had no idea what it was about him that she didn't trust. Most regular humans were unable to notice the difference in him, but he had come across the odd sensitive in his time. Perhaps she was one. They tasted no different.

Ruby was working, dashing from table to kitchen with trays of empty plates and replacing them with dishes of scrambled eggs or pancakes piled high. She sent him a toothy grin as he entered.

"Be with you in a moment," she called, and so he took a seat by the window, watching passers-by.

The opening door let in a rush of cold air, and he looked over as Mother Superior walked in with Astrid, who waved at him, a bright smile on her face. He nodded in response, Mother Superior once again inexplicably making his hackles rise. She regarded him calmly, sending him a polite nod and a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Who the hell _was_ she?

He took a drink of his coffee to distract himself, and by the time he looked up again, the two were on their way, candle sale proceeds tucked in the purse that she carried.

"Lapsed Catholic?" Ruby's voice made him look up.

"I'm sorry?"

"You were looking at them like they'd done you a personal injury," she said, jerking her head at the door through which the nuns had disappeared.

"Oh. No, excuse me, my mind was on other things." He took another drink of coffee. "There's a convent in Storybrooke?"

"Up on the hill out of town," she said. "You wouldn't think a town this small could produce enough nuns to make it viable, but I guess they come from around the area, huh?"

"I guess so." He drummed his fingers on the table, brief flashes of something almost remembered going through his mind. "Have you seen Belle this morning?"

"Not since yesterday," said Ruby, giving his table a cursory wipe with the cloth tucked into her belt. "She said you guys were having dinner tonight."

She winked, and he smiled.

"If you have any ideas for what I should cook, I'm all ears."

"Gotta love a man who can make you decent food," she remarked. "She likes pasta, if that helps. I'm guessing pizza and burgers aren't the vibe you were going for."

"Something a little more special, perhaps," he said.

"Well, she likes pretty much anything," she said. "The boats should be in with today's catch, if you wanted to splash out and get lobster."

He nodded. "A good idea, thank you."

Ruby smiled and turned away, before spinning back on her toes.

"Are you - are you planning on being around for awhile?" she asked, and he was surprised to see a faint blush in her cheeks.

"I hadn't made any plans to leave," he admitted, and she nodded.

"It's just - it's just this is the happiest I've seen her in as long as I can remember," she said in a rush. "I don't want to see her hurt, that's all."

"I have no intention of hurting Belle," he said quietly, and she gave a sharp nod, as if she was satisfied with that answer.

"Well, good!" she chirped. "I'd hate to have to kick your ass. Belle says it's pretty nice."

He couldn't help grinning at that.

"I'll consider myself warned," he said gravely, and she tossed her hair with a wide grin and trotted back to the kitchens.

He paid for his coffee, throwing an extra dollar onto the table for a tip, and drew on his overcoat, intending to go down to the harbour and purchase dinner for that evening. An hour or so later, with a bag of ingredients and a bottle of wine in his possession, he set off back to the house. A passing vehicle splashed greyish slush over his boots, and he narrowed his eyes as he saw the sheriff's car pull to a stop ten yards ahead of him. The sheriff got out of the car, his lean body somewhat protected from the cold by his thick jacket. His cheeks were red with the cold, and Ives wondered what he had been doing, and where.

"Colonel Ives," said Graham, his face grim. "I was looking for you. Would you mind coming to the station, I have a few more questions."

Ives held up his bag.

"If I can be assured that my dinner ingredients won't spoil," he said dryly, and Graham sent him a curt nod.

"I don't imagine it'll take that long. Get in."

Ives settled himself on the back seat of the car, his mind running over what the sheriff might have found. He was almost certain there was nothing at the scene to tie him to the murder, but there was always the chance that someone had seen him near the area. He hadn't been arrested, so the sheriff had nothing definite, only suspicion. Which certainly made things easier. He decided to wait and see what he would be presented with. If it came to the worst he could kill the man and leave town. It would be a shame to leave Belle, but he had sworn to himself long ago that he would never be caged.

The sheriff's station was warm, a pleasant respite from the bitter day, and he remarked as much as Graham led him into the same small room in which he had been questioned previously. He took his time in taking off his coat and draping it over the chair as the sheriff went out of the room for a few minutes, making himself comfortable. Graham soon returned, a brown manila folder in his hands, and Ives waited calmly.

"I have something of a problem," said Graham. "I have a missing person and a murder, all within the space of a few days, and around the time that you come to town. Makes me think there may be a connection."

"Really?" said Ives, uninterested. "And your evidence for this besides prejudice against outsiders is..?"

"I got a response from the hospital at Yellowknife," said Graham. Ives raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. They faxed over your records. You lied to me."

"Did I indeed?" Ives let a corner of his mouth turn upwards. "Well, I can't wait to hear your deductions."

Graham dropped the manila folder on the desk with a loud, flat slapping noise.

"You told me you were in that hospital following a bear attack," he said evenly. "What you didn't tell me was that it took place almost twenty-eight years ago."

Ives made a face.

"As I said." He winked. "Time is a funny thing."

" _Twenty-eight years_ ," insisted Graham. "How do you explain that? How old are you?"

"No doubt the hospital informed you of my personal details," said Ives simply.

"They told me what was on your record," admitted Graham. "But that doesn't match what I can see sitting in this chair. You're too young."

"You flatter me, sheriff." He showed his teeth.

"From the look of you now, you would have had to be a teenager at most when this attack took place," went on Graham, and Ives shrugged.

"I moisturise," he said and Graham clenched his jaw.

"This isn't a joke, Colonel, people are dying!" he said severely.

"People are _always_ dying," said Ives, in a bored voice. "And the longer you spend questioning me about my pretty face, the longer the real killer has to do his dirty work, wouldn't you agree?"

Graham folded his arms, glaring.

"I have reason to suspect that you are not the man mentioned in this hospital report," he said. "You can't be, not with the date of birth I've been given. Which means that you must have stolen the identity of the real Colonel Ives for your own purposes."

"Is that an accusation?" asked Ives, his voice soft. "My my, I really ought to have a lawyer if that's the case, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm not arresting you…"

"No," he interrupted. "You're not. Because you have no evidence other than a hunch, and nothing whatsoever to connect me to the crime you really _should_ be investigating. Do you Sheriff?"

Graham favoured him with a hard stare, and Ives met his gaze calmly.

"It's likely that I'll have more questions for you," said Graham. "I suggest that you don't leave town."

Ives flourished his fingers with a lazy grin.

"Why would I leave?" he asked. "I've done nothing."

Graham continued to stare at him, as though he could somehow read his mind, could see into the depths of his soul. If he was trying to be threatening, reflected Ives, it really wasn't working. Whether Graham was aware of it or not, Ives was the worst thing to ever cross his path in his years of policing Storybrooke. The idea of being intimidated by a small town sheriff was laughable.

"May I go?" he said, and Graham nodded curtly.

Ives stood up, straightening the lapels of his coat.

"Good day to you, sheriff," he said politely, picking up his bag of food, and turned to the door.

"What if I were to tell you I wanted to search your house?" asked Graham then, and Ives stopped, his fingers curled around the door handle.

"Then I would suggest that you get a warrant, and we'll take it from there," he said easily, and opened the door, letting it close behind him and feeling Graham's eyes on his back.

He kept his pace steady as he left the station, his features bland and unconcerned. The mayor passed him on the way, sending him another frown as she ducked into the station, no doubt for an update from the sheriff. The close scrutiny was making him a little uneasy, and he thought it might be an idea to empty his freezer of the body parts he had stored there. Certainly some of the more recognisable cuts, anyway. A waste of a good body, but being arrested wasn't something he liked the idea of.

He glanced across to the library, wondering if Belle was in there, and thinking that it wouldn't hurt to take a look. Perhaps he could persuade her not to come over that evening; being interrupted with an armful of severed limbs would be an inauspicious start to their budding relationship.

Pushing open the door to the library, he was greeted by the warmth of a three-bar electric heater in the centre of the room. It took enough of the chill out of the air that Belle, stacking books on the little trolley she used for re-shelving, was able to work without her scarf, but the library was still chilly.

"Not the warmest of days," he remarked, and she straightened up with a beaming smile.

"I wasn't expecting to see you until tonight," she said, dusting off her hands and trotting over to kiss him. "Is that our dinner? Ooh, lobster!"

"I'm going to have problems cooking it," he said. "I had an accident with a blender this morning, and the kitchen resembles a war zone."

She giggled. "Forget to put the lid on, huh? Done it myself."

"I've also managed to break the stove," he added. "Doesn't seem to be working. I think I may have shorted the power or something. Is there a trip switch?"

"Under the stairs," she confirmed, and he nodded.

"I'm afraid we may have to postpone dinner," he said, and her face fell for a moment, before brightening as she seemed to get an idea.

"You - could always come to my place," she said a little shyly. "I know it's not as nice as yours, but it's cosy, and we could go to Granny's for a drink or something before we eat. If you wanted."

Ives smiled with genuine pleasure.

"I'd like that."

Thinking about it, Belle's idea was a good one. He could leave the food with her, go home, prepare for the body's disposal and clean his place up before the pesky sheriff managed to convince someone to give him a warrant.

"That sounds perfect," he added. "When would you like me to come?"

"Well, I close up at five," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Why don't you come over then?"

He grinned, bending his head to kiss her, and she blushed and rose up on her toes as his lips pressed against hers. He handed over the bag of ingredients, and she smiled up at him.

"I'll put these in the fridge," she said. "See you later?"

"I'll be here at five," he said, and kissed her again. She leaned into him, opening her mouth and letting him taste her, and he growled in pleasure, his arms going around her and pulling her close. Her cheeks were adorably flushed when she pulled back.

"Five o'clock," she whispered, and he kissed her forehead.

"Five o'clock," he echoed.

* * *

He took his time walking back to the house, thinking over the best way to dispose of the body parts. Burying them in the grounds of the house would be a foolish move, as any disturbed earth would automatically raise suspicions. He could bag them with a bunch of rocks and throw them in a nearby lake, but there was always the possibility that the hunt for the missing man would lead to the lake being dragged, and then he'd be back where he started. A hole dug deep in the forest, then, far from any walking trail. Probably the most sensible out of the limited options he was presented with, but he'd need a car.

A few enquiries led him to a vehicle repair shop, and a man named Michael Tillman.

"Sure, I can hire you a car," he said. "Nothing fancy, mind."

"Oh, it doesn't need to be fancy," Ives assured him. "I'd just like to see a little more of the Maine scenery than my legs will permit."

* * *

Half an hour later, he was driving a nondescript Toyota back to the house, whereupon he filled a holdall with the neatly-wrapped parts of Keith Nott that were currently filling his freezer. It was a shame to see the meat go to waste, but there would be other meals. Once the holdall was full and in the trunk, he fetched a pick and shovel from the basement and headed out again.

He turned off the main road once he was out of town and in amongst the trees. There were numerous dirt tracks branching off the road, and he took the one that looked least used, grass and ferns growing up between the tyre tracks, turned russet-brown in the winter cold. The car rolled quietly over the ground, and Ives kept a sharp eye out for hikers. He saw no one, and as the track ended in a small clearing, he got out, taking the pick and shovel from the trunk and making his way north between the trees. It made sense not have the body parts out in the open for any longer than necessary, so he would prepare the ground first.

Ives found what looked like a promising spot, a tiny clearing with an uprooted pine showing the stark spray of its dirt-clogged roots to the freezing air. The ground was iron-hard with the cold, and he swung the pick with increasing ferocity in his attempts to break up the soil. It was hot work, and after a while he could put his coat aside. He dug the hole deep, breaking through the twisting ropes of roots, the earth making a pile behind him. Eventually, it was as deep as he wanted, and he leant on the shovel to catch his breath for a moment, mouth watering as he thought of the meat back at the car.

He began the walk back, his path memorised, and entered the clearing where he had parked the Toyota as the sun was starting its descent towards the horizon. Birds squawked in the fir trees, a harsh alarm call at his approach, and he opened up the trunk with shaking hands, hunger making him desperate. The meat in the hold-all was still frozen, of course, and so he used his pocket knife to cut through the plastic wrap of a thick section of muscle. He sawed off a piece, stuffing it in his mouth and chewing, the frozen meat making his teeth hurt. His preference was for his meals to be cooked, stewed with herbs and vegetables and eaten slowly before a warm fire. But in a pinch, even a few bites of raw, frozen thigh muscle would do the trick. He could already feel it working, the unnatural strength and energy that came from consuming another's flesh coursing through his veins. The virility.

His mind turned to Belle then, to how delicious she was, in a wholly different way, and how much he wanted her. Time to be done here. He cut off another piece of meat, stuffing it in his mouth.

"Are you really that hungry?"

He started at the sound of a voice from behind him, and turned hurriedly. His brows drew down in a cautious frown as he saw Mother Superior staring at him from a few yards away. She was wearing sturdy boots beneath her habit, a bunch of greenery in her left hand. Red holly berries were dotted in amongst the dark green leaves.

"A cold day to be out, Mother Superior," he observed, wondering what the hell she was doing there.

"We lost one of our sisterhood in these woods long ago," she said, gesturing to the right, through the trees. "I like to leave flowers there every month. It was spring when they found her, under the ice of the lake."

She was watching him curiously, and he could feel every muscle in his body tensing, ready to attack.

"The forest seems so quiet in winter," she added. "Hushed, as though the trees are keeping secrets. All manner of things could go on, I imagine, and the town would never realise until the thaw came. No one knows what happened to Sister Delaney."

"My condolences," he said, his heart throbbing in his chest. Why the _hell_ was he having this reaction to her?

"Well, I seriously doubt _you_ killed her," she said. "You weren't here then. _No_ stranger has come to town in as long as anyone can remember. But now there's you. And now we have two people missing. Strange."

"Who are you?" he whispered, and she blinked.

"Who _am_ I? What a question!" She laughed, a light, tinkling sound, but it made his blood seethe and his hackles rise. "Who are _you_ , Colonel Ives? If that's even your name, of course."

"Of course it is," he said, his voice a low rasp. She didn't seem to recognise the danger from him, or if she did she didn't care. Perhaps she thought her god would protect her. Ridiculous.

"A man who drives into the woods to eat frozen meat from the trunk of his car is a man with many secrets, I think," she observed.

"Well, perhaps you should leave me and my secrets in peace," he suggested, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, be my guest, I was just passing and thought I'd say hello," she said. "Thank you for buying all those candles, by the way. I know Sister Astrid can be a little effusive, but it really will help the convent." She smiled, and inclined her head. "Good day, Colonel Ives."

He nodded, and watched as she turned on the heel of her sturdy boots and walked off to the east. He waited for a good fifteen minutes, ensuring that he could no longer hear or see her. Cutting off another hunk of frozen meat, he shoved it into his mouth, dropping the rest of the steak back into the holdall and hefting it over his shoulder.

He made his way back through the trees, counting his steps as he had done on the way out, ensuring that he found the clearing with the fallen tree again. The hole in the earth yawned, a dark reddish-brown scar in the snow, and he swore under his breath as his toe caught a root, pitching him forwards onto the frozen ground. The bag flew from his hand, the contents spilling out a little, and he growled as he picked himself up, dusting snow from his knees. A sharp intake of breath made him look up sharply.

Mother Superior was standing in the treeline, a hand pressed to her mouth as though she wanted to take back the sound that had given her away. Ives caught and held her eyes with his, sensing her sudden terror, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her fear. There on the ground between them was a severed forearm, fingers bound together with layers of plastic wrap, the limb purplish-red where it had been cut off at the elbow. Ives let his mouth spread in a slow smile.

"So," he said softly. "Curiosity just wouldn't let you go, hmm?"

Her eyes were wide, her skin paler than he remembered, and she was shaking a little. He almost never killed women, but there was an exception to every rule. She took a step backwards, a squeak of alarm coming from her, and he leapt at her with a growling roar, his hands outstretched.

* * *

Belle had few visitors to the library that day, but given the cold weather she wasn't surprised. She spent a couple of hours going through some boxes of donated books, cataloguing them and sorting them into piles for shelving, and by the time she wheeled the trolley through from the back room the sun was sliding down the sky and casting long shadows through the windows. She picked up a pile of children's hardbacks, carrying them to what she liked to call Storytime Corner, and squeaked in surprise as she almost ran into someone.

"So sorry!" she said breathlessly. "I didn't realise there was anyone in here."

The man turned to face her. He was tall and dark-haired, dressed in a long coat over black pants and waistcoat with a purple shirt, a paisley silk cravat tied around his throat. She supposed he was handsome, with clear blue eyes and a cleft in his chin, but he also looked a little melancholy.

"I'm the librarian," she added, and he smiled, a genuine smile that showed very white teeth.

"Of course you are," he said, as though he'd expected nothing else. He held up the book in his hand: _Alice Through The Looking Glass_. "I was looking for some more biographies, if you have them. You might call them fairy tales. This world's take on things is endlessly amusing, don't you find?"

"I…" Belle opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, and he shrugged.

"Forget it, I'm having a bad day. A bad day after a bad night."

"Oh." She sent him a sympathetic smile. "Well, I can relate. Insomnia's my constant companion lately."

"Yeah, that's my curse too," he sighed. "The only one awake in a town full of dreamers."

He slid the book back onto the shelf, and Belle's fingers twitched to shelve it in the correct place, but then he stepped past her, back beyond the stacks towards the circulation desk, and she followed him out, making a mental note of where the book was.

"Have we met?" she asked, not being able to place him. "Do you have a child that attends one of my groups?"

The man's lips twitched at that, his eyes suddenly sad, and he looked over at her.

"I did have a daughter, once," he said quietly. "But I lost her."

"Oh." Belle bit her lip. "I'm - I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault." He had a faraway look in his eye. "No one's fault but mine." He glanced at her briefly. "I'm Jefferson, by the way."

"I'm Belle," she said, and his mouth spread in a twisted smile.

"She let you keep your name," he said. "A twist of the knife for your true love, even if he didn't remember you. She said she wanted you to be pining after some guy that left you. Some handsome, empty-headed moron that you couldn't get over. I guess it didn't take, huh?"

Belle could feel her brow crinkling in puzzlement. "What?"

The man waved a hand. "Never mind. Rumplestiltskin wasn't caught like the rest of us, that much is clear."

Belle wondered if he was quite well.

"Is…" She swallowed, unsure what to say to him. "Is there - someone you'd like me to call? Something you need?"

He gave her a wry look then.

"I'm not mad," he said dryly. "No more than anyone else, anyway.

"No, I didn't mean…" She cut off, because she _had_ meant that, and he was looking at her with a knowing twist to his mouth.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she amended, and he shook his head.

"I was just browsing. Interesting things in this town, if you know where to look. Like that elevator." He pointed to the wall behind her, which was decorated with a large picture of a tree, branches spreading outwards. Belle wrinkled her brow.

"Elevator?" she asked, puzzled, and he shrugged.

"I've seen the Mayor use it, once or twice," he said. "Always wondered where it went. Maybe it's best not to find out, hmm?"

"Um…" Belle was by no means sure that he was as sane as he claimed, but he seemed harmless, at least. "Well, if you need any help…"

She let the sentence trail off, scooping up another small pile of books in her arms and carrying them to the history section. A blast of air from the door made her hair flutter around her face, and when she looked up the strange man had gone.

* * *

Ives took his time over his meal, relishing the warmth and taste of fresh blood and flesh after the frozen meat he had been chewing. Mother Superior had a strange flavour, a little harsh on the tongue, and it wasn't one that he was too keen on. It did its job, however, and he could feel himself hardening, heat and strength coursing through him. He needed to see Belle.

He tipped the corpse into the hole he had dug, along with his blood-stained shirt and the holdall full of frozen body parts, and shovelled the cold earth back on top. He worked quickly, steam rising from his body in the frigid air, tamping down the earth with his feet and the flat of the shovel as he went. Eventually the earth was smooth, and he glanced up at the leaden sky, nodding approvingly as he saw the first flakes of snow swirling down. In a few hours there would be no sign anyone had been here. Rust-coloured pools of blood in the snow among the trees would soon be coated in a white blanket, and he would be back in Storybrooke in the warmth of Belle's arms.

It was growing dark as he drove back into town, his coat buttoned up to the throat to hide his bare chest. Parking the Toyota on the driveway beside his house, he hurried inside to shower and change. His skin was still hot, the blood seeming to sing in his veins, his flesh hard and taut, and it was almost too much. God, he needed her! He pulled on pants and a shirt, trying to calm himself, his fingers shaking as he looped a thin black tie around his throat. Images of Belle tumbled through his mind as he laced his boots, the pure beauty of her lying beneath him, the way her cheeks flushed and her mouth opened as she came, and the scent of her, the taste of her. Shuddering with desire, he decided to walk to the library to calm himself, and shrugged on his coat, lighting up a cigar as he strode purposefully along the street.

The sun had set by the time he reached the library, Storybrooke coming alive in the evening with the streetlamps and shop windows sending warm light out into the streets to banish the shadows. He nodded to a few of the residents, exchanging hurried greetings with them, and pushed open the door to the library as the clock tower struck five.

Belle was pushing a book onto a high shelf, standing on a stool to reach it in a little purple jacket and a black dress short enough that he could see most of her beautiful legs. She glanced over her shoulder, smiling down at him.

"Right on time," she said, and he reached up to take her hand, helping her step down.

She turned her face up for a kiss, and Ives cupped her cheeks with his hands, pressing his mouth to hers, his lips pushing hers apart, his tongue sliding inside to explore her. She moaned a little, and his hands slid down her body, pulling her close against him, knowing that she would feel the hardness of him. She clung to his shoulders, her tongue touching his, and he pulled back before he could lose control and bear her down on the library floor. He was breathing hard as he stepped back, and Belle was little better, her chest heaving.

"I - um - I think I'd better just lock up," she ventured, gesturing at the double doors behind her, and he nodded wordlessly.

He watched her draw the bolts and put the chain across, barring the doors and shutting out the world, and he followed her through to the stairway that led up to her apartment. He could sense the atmosphere between them, an electricity humming in the air, and her hands shook as she unlocked the front door to her apartment and led him inside. Ives pushed the door shut with his foot, her hand warm in his. The click of the lock seemed to break some sort of spell, and she reached for him, pulling him to her as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders, his hands cupping her breasts through the thick cotton of her dress. Belle moaned into his mouth, pushing herself against him, her own hands sliding inside his heavy coat and around his back, and he let out a groan at the feel of her, sensations heightened by his recent meal.

They stumbled towards the bedroom, his coat falling from him to land in a heap on the floor, and he went to work on the buttons of her dress as his lips pulled at hers, opening it up and baring her pale skin and the black lace bra. He wanted to rip the dress from her, sending buttons flying and licking every inch of her skin, but he was careful, drawing it gently down her arms to fall from her, his fingers unhooking the bra and pulling it from her. Belle sat down on the edge of the bed, fumbling with his tie and the buttons of his shirt, her fingers dancing over him, cool against heated skin. He stripped off the shirt and threw it aside, pushing her back and bending to tug off her boots, followed by his own. She giggled as he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down along with his underwear, stepping out of them to climb on top of her.

"It's only been a few days," she said, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Do you need me that badly?"

"Always," he growled, and kissed her, pulling her up the bed a little so that her head was on the pillows. He rolled to the side a little, his hand sliding down over her curves, pushing beneath the waistband of her panties to stroke through the soft wet flesh he found there, and Belle moaned, arching her back a little.

"I've missed you," she whispered. "I dream about you, you know. Such - strange dreams..."

"Oh yes?" He kissed along her jawline, his fingers stroking, searching.

"Yes - oh!"

She let out a cry as his finger entered her, sliding inside, and he groaned as he sank into her, up to the knuckle.

"Beautiful," he whispered, and ran the roughened pad of his thumb across her clit, making her whimper. "The sounds you make, Belle, when I touch you, when I'm inside you. The way you feel around me. It's beautiful."

He let his tongue trail along her jaw, lifting his head a little to kiss her, and her mouth was hot and sweet and soft. He groaned again, his cock hard against her leg, wanting her, and her tongue stroked against his, her hands tangled in his hair. She pushed up with her hips as he stroked her, his finger sliding in and out, soft flesh clamped around him, and he pulled his mouth free.

"I have to have you, Belle," he breathed, his lips brushing against hers. "I have to taste you."

She nodded rapidly, and he began kissing his way down over her breasts, his tongue swirling over the taut little nipples, his mouth fastening over them, sucking hard. His fingers slipped out of her, the scent of her arousal making him let out a low growl of pleasure, and his thumbs hooked under the waistband of her tights and underwear, tugging them down over her hips. Belle lifted herself up, bending her knees so that he could pull them off at her feet, leaving her naked, and he pushed her legs apart, moving so that he was between them. He kissed her belly, biting gently into the soft skin there, leaving tiny red marks on her, and Belle let her hands drop to cradle his head, her fingers sinking into his hair as he kissed and sucked.

Ives slid lower, the palms of his hands pushing her thighs further apart, the beads of the rosary leaving tiny dents in her flesh. Her scent was delicious, sweet musk drifting into his mind to drown his soul, the soft blush of her sex glistening with arousal. He bent his head to her, the tip of his tongue slowly stroking through her folds, and she arched up with a cry as he tasted her. He groaned as her flavour spread across his tongue, his hands sliding under her rear and lifting her up a little. His fingers dug into her hips as he buried his head between her thighs again, his tongue stroking and circling, licking at her in a steady rhythm. Belle moaned and writhed, fingers twisting in his hair, and he slipped a hand between them, his forefinger sliding inside her again.

She was tensing in his arms, her body easing towards climax, her muscles tightening, and he let his finger slide in and out of her, a second joining it, pushing inside her, stretching her. Belle moaned, her clit hard and swollen beneath his tongue, her juices slippery on his fingers, on his lips. He slipped the tip of his tongue between his two fingers, opening her up a little more, tasting her salt, and ran the flat of it over her again, pulling another low moan from her.

"Another?" he whispered.

"Yes!"

He pushed a third finger into her, her flesh tight around him, his cock twitching as he thought of being inside her, sinking into her. Belle moaned again, letting her head roll back on the pillows, and he slowly thrust the fingers in and out of her, pushing deep, his tongue flickering over her. She was close, so, so close, and he wanted her to come, wanted to feel her break and hear her cries and drink the sweet nectar from her. Her breath was heavy, whistling through her lungs, and he kept licking in time with the thrusts of his hand. Belle came with a loud cry, pushing up against him before falling back onto the bed, her body jerking, and he pulled his fingers from her, tongue thrusting up inside her to taste the salty-sweet fluids leaking from her. He tugged her against his mouth, fingers leaving sticky prints on her hips, sucking every drop from her as her moans quieted, and he pressed a final kiss to her before pushing back onto his knees, his hands either side of her.

She was gazing up at him with a sleepy smile on her face, her cheeks flushed and eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust. Curls of her hair were sticking to her skin, a faint glow of sweat gleaming in the light from the lamps, and he felt a tug deep within, something calling to him, like a memory. She licked her lips, reaching a hand out towards him.

"Please," she said, and he bent to kiss her, his hands pulling her legs further apart as he lowered himself onto her, the head of his cock pushing against her. She moaned in pleasure, hands sliding down his body to tug at his hips, and he groaned into her mouth as he sank into her, her flesh like wet silk against him. Dimly, he remembered that they hadn't used any protection, and he pulled his mouth from hers, his lips tugging at her earlobe. She felt incredible, nothing between them, and he thrust into her with another deep groan.

"Belle," he murmured. "Belle, we didn't…"

"Shhh!" she said soothingly, and kissed him again, moving her hips against him. "I wanted to feel you. All of you. It's okay."

Ives felt as though he was losing his mind, drowning in her, and he cupped her face with his hands, kissing her, his lips sliding against hers as she lifted her knees to let him push deeper. She moaned at the feel of it, her fingertips clutching at him, tracing the hollow of his spine as he thrust. It was almost too much, the sensations heightened by the meal he had consumed, his body hot and filled with lust, with fire, and with something he couldn't place, something that seemed to clench around his heart, something that was simply _Belle_. She was moaning into his mouth, her body tensing around him, and he could feel his orgasm approaching, ready to burst through him and shatter him like glass. Belle broke the kiss, crying out as she came, and the feel of it pulled him with her, a deep groan rumbling up from the depths of his lungs as he squirted his hot seed deep inside her. She clenched around him, tugging at him, drawing him deeper, and he thrust against her as shivers ran through him and darkness swamped his vision.

She stilled, her body loosening in his arms, melting into the bedclothes, and for a moment there was silence apart from their heavy breathing. He pushed his face into the pillows by her head, inhaling her scent, strands of her hair tickling his skin, and Belle gently stroked his back with soft hands. Eventually he felt himself shrinking, slipping from her, and he pushed himself up on his hands to smile down at her. Belle reached up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the thin strip of beard on his chin.

"That was amazing," she said softly, and his smile widened.

"Indeed."

He kissed her briefly, and rolled off her onto his back. Belle tugged at the bedclothes, pushing them down with her feet so they could get beneath, and he lay back with his arms folded behind his head, a contented sigh escaping him. He had not expected this when he had first thought to ask her to dinner. Pleasure, yes, but not this sense of - ease. Of belonging. It was an unfamiliar feeling. She drew the covers over him, slipping from the bed and pulling on a bathrobe in thick purple towelling, tying the belt at her waist.

"Give me a minute," she said, and went out, leaving him to shift his weight in the bed until he was thoroughly comfortable.

She soon returned, looking fresh-faced, as though she had washed, and carrying two small glasses of wine. He sat up immediately, taking one from her with a smile and shifting over a little so that she could climb in beside him. They sipped at the wine in comfortable silence, his hand resting on her thigh beneath the blankets.

"I was going to make dinner," he reminded her. "What time do you want to eat?"

"Oh, not until eight or so," she said. "There's plenty of time."

There was silence again, and he kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent. It would be agony to leave her, when the time came. And come it would; the nun's disappearance would not go unnoticed. At some point, he would have to leave. Not yet, though. No, he had a while yet. He drained his glass, setting it on the nightstand, and Belle kissed him again before swallowing the last of her own wine and bouncing out of bed to dress. He watched as she drew on clean underwear and tights, and the dress she had been wearing earlier, nimble fingers fastening the row of buttons.

"Will you walk across to Granny's with me?" she asked, and he sent her a lazy smile, feeling heavy and sated and content.

"You want to leave this lovely warm bed and go out in the snow?" he asked. "Are you absolutely sure? I'm thinking up all kinds of interesting ways I could persuade you to stay."

Belle giggled, sending him a delighted look, and blushing a little as she went to the dresser. She picked up a hairbrush, shaking out her curls.

"It's rent day," she explained, brushing the tangles from her hair. "I collected most of it at lunchtime, and some people brought theirs into the library, but I usually wait until the evening to collect from Granny. That way I can have a drink in the diner, and _you_ can join me." She beamed at him, and he couldn't help smiling back.

"How could I refuse?"

He got up, giving her a quick kiss before hunting for his scattered clothes, and she grinned at him as she reapplied the lipstick he had kissed from her.

* * *

Bundled up in coats and scarves, they made their way out of Belle's apartment and across the street to the diner, waiting as a car passed by, wheels stirring up the slush. An old Volkswagen bug was parked outside, its bright yellow colour standing out sharply against the grey sidewalk and the whiteness of the falling snow. Belle clutched his arm, shivering at the cold wind.

"I think I'd actually prefer a hot cocoa, rather than wine," she said. "Especially if we get Ruby to dump a brandy in it."

"That sounds like a reasonable idea for a first drink," observed Ives. "Perhaps we can save the wine until we eat."

"We'll get the rent first."

They strode up the path to the inn's entrance, its warm light sending a welcoming glow onto the snow at their feet, and Belle ducked inside, Ives following on her heels. To his surprise, Granny was at the reception desk, smiling and nodding at a woman facing her. The woman was dressed in a red leather jacket and jeans above heavy boots, a mass of blonde waves cascading down her back.

"What's the name?" asked Granny, pen in hand.

"Swan," said the woman. "Emma Swan."

And Rumplestiltskin woke up.

Shock hit him like a punch to the sternum, stealing his breath, making him choke on air that seemed to have turned to ice in his lungs. He barely registered stumbling from the inn into the freezing night, flailing and falling, his hands sinking into the cold snow to the side of the path, pain in his knees as he landed heavily. His stomach clenched hard and he retched, bringing up the wine he had drunk, deep red liquid spattering against the snow, like the blood of his last kill. Images - memories - swarmed into his head, almost blinding him, and he panted for breath as the cold truth of what he was - of _who_ he was - burrowed into his chest and sat curled around the darkness of his heart.

 _Baelfire. Bae. Oh gods, Bae! How could I_ forget _?_

He wanted to weep at the pain of it, to tear his soul into shreds. To rip the world apart.

 _How long? How long has it been? Oh, my poor Baelfire!_

There were other memories, too. The Blue Fairy had been there in his cell, smiling sweetly at him as she raised her wand and the Queen's curse rolled in.

 _I swore to her that I'd kill her. I made the vow as she banished me. She thought her magic would send me far enough away that I'd live and die and never cross her path, but she never suspected that this world might have its own dark magic. That it would find me, and claim me, again. That I was destined to be cursed, to be the darkness, to bring the storm in my wake and drown my enemies in blood._

"Francis?"

Dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps, of boots squeaking in the snow, and a long finger of ice trailed its way down his spine.

"Are you okay? Are you sick again?"

 _Belle._

Her voice, anxious and filled with concern for him. It was like music. Like a memory lost for so long. He closed his eyes, pushing himself up onto his heels and slowly turning on the balls of his feet. Belle was peering down at him, her eyes wide in her face, and he got to his feet, curling upwards as though he had been born from the snow itself, clean and pure. Not the dark, twisted thing he knew he was. She was chewing her lip in that way she had, in that way he remembered from a lifetime ago, and he reached out hesitantly, almost afraid to touch her, lest she disappear like smoke with the fog of his breath. He could feel his heart thumping hard in his chest as his hand touched the thick wool of the coat she wore, its texture reassuringly rough and real. She was looking at him in puzzlement, her head tilted a little, as though she was staring at a stranger, her eyes every bit as wide and blue as those that had haunted his dreams for so long. His fingers squeezed her shoulder, and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

"You're real," he whispered. "You're alive."


End file.
